#i want someone to see the ugliest parts of me and still find beauty

[14thcommander]

i want someone to love me like a hozier song

[scribblestatic]

Eyo, back on my amputee!SY agenda bullshit

Lesgo.

Prev: Part 2

---

When Luo Binghe married Shen Yuan, he was named the First Husband. But now, with his new crowning, he'll become the Empress, a position given to none of Luo Binghe's wives, not even in PIDW. Though, he's already come to terms with the fact the world isn't the same as the book.

Mostly. It's still perhaps a bit too easy for him to suggest torture for someone despite his modern world sensibilities because it's easier to think of anyone facing against his husband (AAAAAAAAAA) as some no-name NPC rather than someone with a whole life full of experiences.

But anyway, he's becoming an empress. Which is wild to him.

And it dusts up a lot of his insecurities. And not, like, the kind where someone asks their significant other if they would still love them if they were a worm. No, it's more along the lines of, "Hey, would you still love me if it turned out my soul wasn't transmigrated at all, but was simply, like, disconnected from itself and I really am Shen Jiu, but I also lived as and firmly feel like I'm Shen Yuan, but some piece of me really had done all those terrible things to make your innocent life more miserable?"

He pops the question while Binghe's combing oil through his hair, his left eye gazing anxiously at the bronze mirror to look at the demon emperor's expression.

Luo Binghe thinks, humming a little as he doesn't falter while combing his hair.

"...Would Shizun love me if I killed some of my wives?"

"Huh?"

"Would A'Yuan love me if I killed some of my wives?"

"I mean...sure? I'm sure you'd have a reason for it."

"Then, would A'Yuan hate me if I killed and ate demons in the Endless Abyss?"

"What? No. Survival was extremely difficult. You only did what you had to do."

"And if I still had a taste for demon flesh?"

Shen Yuan's face scrunches, but his response is still immediate.

"Then, I suppose we could find which ones you liked? I mean, I don't think I could do it with you, and we'd need to respect their personhood. So, maybe we could find a group where cannibalism is a norm for them? I think that'd be difficult...ah! We could also see if the Red-Dipped Manfruit could be bred to taste like the demon's flesh. Demons that eat humans use it for minor sustenance when natural human flesh isn't available, so surely--"

Ah, his expression had scrunched more with thought than disgust. Luo Binghe doesn't interrupt as he goes on his continued tangent, smiling as he listens. He only speaks again after he seems to be trailing to another subject.

"Then," he pauses, leaning forward and looking down at Shen Yuan, "if A'Yuan can love this one as I am, even at my ugliest, how could this emperor not love my A'Yuan at his most beautiful?"

Shen Yuan stares up at him, his lips slightly open as he listens, as he sees the depths of the light and love in Binghe's dark eyes.

"Even if you are Shen Jiu, back then, this disciple wanted the affection you now freely give. I have always cared for and about you, for better or worse. And your attention was always on me, for better or worse. This Binghe likes to think that, now, we care for each other, not just for the better, but for the best."

"Ah..."

Shen Yuan stares up a bit longer before he quickly turns away. Binghe puts the comb down as he hears a sniffle, and when he kneels beside his seat, he pushes the long, inky black hair away from Shen Yuan's eye, catching sight of his ruddy cheeks and the mistiness in his eye.

"...Shameless."

"Indeed, I am. A'Yuan should punish me."

He just shakes his head, and he doesn't lean away when Binghe leans forward and kisses his lips. They linger softly, pulling apart slowly as they share each other's breathes. Their faces remain too close for them to see each other properly, lips still just barely touching.

"...Then, I'll only kiss you two more times," Shen Yuan mumbles.

Luo Binghe chuckles.

"How cruel."

They only remember to get back to combing Shen Yuan's hair several minutes later.

--

The remains of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect had not been invited to Shen Yuan's crowning ceremony, but they still heard of it happening regardless.

Demons, previously unaccustomed to some of the more casual aspects of living with their means more easily available, and humans, always seeking new methods of entertainment, became very entranced with the gossip surrounding Demon Emperor Luo's harem. The fact pieces of it were steadily dissolving had originally been a gripe against him, as though he was losing his touch. However, when some of the wives were members of their own race or species and they returned without harm and with a hefty sum of money, well, the bridges hadn't been burned, and suddenly, "losing his touch" simply became "being less loose" or "finding lasting love."

So now, with the crowning ceremony ramping up, of course the gossip mills were churning at rapid speeds. Eventually, word of who would become empress despite the emperor's known track record of wives was absolutely scandalous.

"His shizun, of all people?"

"The one he had imprisoned, even."

"Must've driven the man mad."

"I don't know... I saw them recently. Shen Qingqiu looked quite sane."

"He has no limbs and is missing an eye, he can't be that sane anymore."

"He certainly wasn't groveling. If anything, he seemed quite untouched. Save for...well..."

"His eye is quite sharp, and he is quick-witted. I don't think he would be bad for an empress."

"The cultivation sects are going to implode."

And, just like the news of the crowning ceremony spread around, so too did the news that Cang Qiong Mountain Sect sent a letter to Demon Emperor Luo, demanding an audience in light of his proposal to a lord from their sect.

It was, to many demons and a few humans, a wasted, and perhaps misguided, effort. Yet, they wouldn't protest against the meeting.

It would be incredibly entertaining, after all.

---

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3: here Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11+: links on Part 10

AO3

[ravetillyoucry]

PUPARIA

Chapter 13 - No More Like That

prev - chapter 1

Seventy nine hand written notes. That was around four per day being delivered to Hosah's home address.

Every single one showed a new side to the killer, some detailing their warped view of the world around them, how angry they were, how upset and hopeless it all made them, others listing minute facts about Hosah's daily life that he himself barely took notice of, the things he did unconsciously and without realising. It was cases like these that the shifter found the most difficult, because he was able to empathise with the sick and depraved.

People like this didn't deserve sympathy, a phrase Hosah had heard time and time again, but there was something so uniquely wrong with the stalker that he just couldn't help but see the situation from all kinds of different angles. These kinds of monsters aren't just born sick, surely.

One note stuck out in particular, the rest were quite lengthy, taking up both sides of the pages they were written on, but this one was just a few words in a Get Well Soon card, 'Stop hurting yourself, and I'll stop hurting others'. A sentiment Hosah had found himself extremely familiar with, stop this self destructive behaviour, for me?

These statements meant little, if anything, to the shifter. He didn't get himself into shitty cycles of abuse for the people around him, it was all completely selfish, therefore only a selfish motivation could convince him to quit it, surely. The truth was, Hosah hated himself more than he loved others. He saw all the beauty in everyone around him, blinded by the rays of light that excreted from every stranger he passed on the street, it was his innate ability to find the ugliest parts of himself that made him able to see the desirable parts in others with such ease.

Hosah was only about half way through the pile of letters that had been left on his doorstep over the past few weeks, and he wasn't sure if he could continue to sit and read for much longer.

"These are fucking delusional.." Teddy wheeled around on his chair as he flicked through the few shorter notes in his hands, "I still can't believe you haven't been told to stay home, you know, for your safety."

If there was one thing Jules wasn't going to do, it was care about her employees livelihoods,

"Well, I'm their golden ticket to luring this guy in. Human bait, if you could even consider me that." The words scattered throughout the writings had started to seep their way into the shifter's psyche, his humanity becoming more and more debatable by the second.

Hosah laughed as he spoke, but looking back up at his assistants face, he could tell the giant was being deadly serious with his previous statement.

Teddy leant in, keeping his voice down, "We should chase Boss up on that. It's not right, keeping you coming back here, I mean they know where you work, where you used to live, it's only a matter of time before they follow us back to my place."

"There's no point. I can't lose this job, I.. Where else would I go?"

"She wouldn't fire you. She can't do that."

"But she would, she will, you don't understand," Hosah felt his throat tighten with every word he said, his big brown eyes now glossed over with tears.

"What don't I understand? Please, I want to know why you're so scared to stand up for yourself here." Although the words on paper seemed cocky, the tone in Teddy's voice was about as pure and genuine as it could get.

"There's nothing for me here. Jules did me a huge favour even considering giving me a job here, it's a miracle I like doing it and I like the people here. What other place in the city do you know that'd take on someone who can't do shit half the time?"

The pit of hopelessness in terms of making a living in this world was one Hosah had long found himself falling down, an endless rabbit hole of despair that the shifter would most certainly never have the ability to escape from. Sure, this job sucked, he had seven day work weeks for most of the year, he became the target of the depraved and disturbed, he was financially and probably psychologically abused by his boss in some way, but this was his only choice in society. You help the people in the same situation as you, or you sit around in suffering, waiting for someone else to come and save you. And if there was one thing in the world Hosah valued over anything, it was feeling like a hero.

Teddy sat in the quiet of the room for a moment, the cogs in his brain turning, leaving his face visibly deep in thought about whatever in the world Teddy thinks about.

".. Do you think people would pay a lot for your paintings?"

The question was a ridiculous one, one with an obvious answer, so obvious in fact that Hosah almost laughed out loud upon hearing it.

"God, no. I'd be lucky if anyone took any of them during a burglary." If that was the case, the shifter had struck gold with his stalker.

"I'm being serious, Hosah, your paintings are really amazing. I bet you could make a living just from selling those alone."

"I'm not giving up my likelihood to pursue some.. fantastical dream career path." In all honestly, it was the consistency and the routine that Hosah was more bothered about having to give up.

Despite all of the negatives in the field, being a detective gave Hosah purpose. It gave him a reason to get up and to take the subway every morning, because if he didn't, who would be there when one of his brothers or sisters in this world needed him?

"I didn't say you had to, over the weekend, let's go to.. I don't know, where do you even sell paintings, an art gallery? Let's go to a gallery and sell them one of your pieces."

The idea truly did sound lovely, and the thought of being praised by a professional in the field was one the shifter was particularly keen on, but simultaneously, the fear of judgement and criticism was overwhelming. The fear of not knowing what the people at the gallery would say was truly terrifying, and Hosah knew terrifying to its core.

The shifter sat silently, eyebrows furrowed as he weighed up his options. All of the pros and cons, which paintings would he even want to sell at all, what he'd do if things were to either go incredibly good or devastatingly bad.

The quiet of the near empty office space left Teddy with a feeling of unease, an urge to fill the void with whatever words came to his mind first,

"If you still like the idea of going back to Colorado and getting a quiet place together, it'd be best to start the saving process sooner rather than later."

Of course he still liked the idea, it was one he went back on a thousand times in a day, obsessing over the tiny details, making sure everything in his brain's personal palace was just as he'd left it.

Returning to the islet when things were too much in the real world was something Hosah did far more often than he'd like to admit. The term maladaptive daydreaming had been thrown around a couple times when he was a teenager, but he preferred to not really think in medical terms when it came to his brain's activity.

Being zoned out in his own little world was the shifter's safe haven. In that little boat on his way back from fishing all day, laying out for a moment, feeling the sun bask down onto his bare skin, even the summer's bugs couldn't bother him in this universe. Instead of paying attention to his reality, he would listen to the soft breeze against the lake, the bubbling of the fishes below the surface, tracing his fingertips across the cool water under the wooden structure he lay afloat in.

That was the hardest part of this decision, if he were to make his escapist fantasy a reality, would it be all he'd made it up to be in his head? Would it live up to his expectations? How could he be expected to share his dream with someone else, would Teddy even appreciate it like he did? It would probably ruin his entire existence if his only coping mechanism was to be ruined, he needed his cabin on the lake to survive even a day in this world.

"... We can think on it more later." was Hosah's answer. He couldn't help it, suggesting grandiose ideas far too soon just to weasel out of them when the prospect of them becoming reality brought back up again.

Sometimes Hosah wished for him to become comatose, or maybe a hollow, lifeless shell of himself only kept alive by breathing machines, just so he could retreat back into his own mind, living in that little cabin on the lake, without having to actually commit his physical form to the life. Locked-in syndrome didn't sound too bad at all.

The following Friday night was unusually quiet, the shifter was expecting a big bang after the fiasco that was the previous day, but it was all so eerily mundane. There was nobody waiting in the dark corners of the tunnels Teddy walked through on his way back to the, now shared, apartment. There was nobody tailing behind them as they approached the building itself. It was as if the stalker wasn't real at all, the entire situation being a massive, long lasting nightmare that Hosah had mistaken for reality.

As he sat on the same pillow he lay on previously, the shifter wondered why he should even be worrying in the first place. Sure, maybe he heard his name being said in large crowds or in the queue at a cafe, maybe he felt eyes on him constantly, even when completely in isolation, but when he really payed attention, it was evident that he truly was just alone. Who even had the time, or, as a matter of fact, who even had the patience to sit and watch his boring old life anyway.

Each note they had left gave such precise detail, facts only Hosah himself could know, things he hadn't even realised he did, the more they added up, the more unsure the shifter felt. It was stupid, there was cold hard evidence that there was someone following his every move, but Hosah couldn't help but doubt himself and the whole situation. Imposter syndrome was something just about everyone experienced, but this was to a whole new level. Being so separated from your own achievements that it even spreads out into the acts that are working against you, inadequate of deserving even the harshest abuse.

All of these questions, but the most prominent one being, why him? Not in a self pitying way, not in a way that would imply he was too good to be treat in such a manner, but why did he of all people on this planet attract such intense fixation. There was nothing truly amazing or special about Hosah, any of his coworkers would've probably been much more interesting to observe under a microscope, so why him?

Hosah was so lost in his confused daze, he spoke without even realising it, "I'm scared it's something I've made up in my head."

"Sorry?" Teddy, who was half way across the room, asked for clarification on what the, barely legible, words his roommate had just said exactly were.

"I'm scared none of it is real."

"..What isn't real?" The giant sat beside the throw pillow, his voice much softer now,

"The person stalking me. Why won't they do anything. I don't... I just need them to do something to my face, to know I'm not crazy." Hosah's arms covered his face as he went on, hiding his mixture of fatigue and fear that littered his pathetic expression.

"I can vouch for you, that whoever it is that's out to get you, is definitely real... Not- Not to scare you of course, but, I mean, there's no denying it really."

"I just need to run away and forget any of this ever happened. I need to forget New York, forget everything that came before it too, I just- I need to get out, you know?" The shifter rambled, rolling his body closer to the pale, coarse hand beside him.

"Can I come with you, or does 'any of this' include me?" Teddy joked, but the twinge of sadness in his voice gave away how he was truly feeling.

Hosah thought for a second, wondering if his genuine thoughts would be a little too intense to unload onto his assistant,

"I don't want to be too much but," The shifter sat up, a much more serious look about him than before, "I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if I left without you."

Despite their last topic of conversation being quite dark and terrifying, this comment couldn't help but turn Teddy's concerned look into an uncontrollable smile.

The lack of verbal response from his roommate made Hosah feel as if he had to fill the air with clarification on his last statement,

"I mean, I think..." How to word exactly how he felt was the main issue,

"I think I'd spend the rest of my life wondering 'What if'. What if I said this, what if I did this differently, what would've happened if I stayed. That would really mess with my head. We have.. something. And I don't want to run away from it, for once."

The shifter's face progressively reddened as he spoke, unable to control what he said as he suddenly found exactly how to address how he felt toward the giant.

An air of stillness and anticipation filled the cluttered room, with Teddy's face being hard to read at best, whatever the giant was thinking, it was a mystery to Hosah. It was as if he was transported back into the elevator where they first met, as the shifter longed for him to just say whatever thoughts he was having in that moment.

After what felt like an eternity, Teddy just laughed, "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

Damn. How low is the bar?

Hosah was stuck between a 'You're welcome' and a 'Thank you', instead deciding to just not say anything at all.

-~-

The art gallery was weirdly quiet, to say it was the weekend and New York was in fact the world's first mega city, at least. Most people were probably tending to the consequences of their Friday night, managing some of the most indescribably unpleasant hangovers you could think of. Hosah was glad to be in an art gallery at twelve o'clock on a Saturday afternoon, knowing if he were to go back a year or two in time to this exact date, he'd probably be in the other boat.

He'd never actually been to this particular establishment, or really any galleries at all during his stay in the city. In order to calm his nerves for when it came down to actually trying to sell one of his paintings, Teddy had agreed to do a quick look around at all the other pieces first.

Hosah sat in the scarf as he had been doing much more recently, his top half poking out so he could still actually see as they toured around. One exhibit in particular caught the giant's attention it seemed, as he turned down the corridor labelled 'Shifter History Exhibit' with a big arrow pointing in the direction they were headed.

The shifter had never really been all that interested in history, especially when regarding how he would've been treated fifty or a hundred years ago, but seeing himself reflected in the renaissance era was a cool thought.

It wasn't like being a shifter was a new concept, given that the gene had existed long before humans had the resource to log any medical records or research, but it was a foreign idea to treat those with the condition with the same respect you would just any person on the street. Hosah didn't get it. If they saw him on his commute to work every morning, they wouldn't think twice to consider whether he truly had the status to consider himself human, but when he was shrunken, that was an entirely different story.

He could've sat and gotten himself annoyed at the absurdity of how people treat their peers for their differences, but it would've been a waste of time. Instead, Hosah lifted himself back out from under the scarf to take a look around.

The piece Teddy had been looking at was one of those weird little macabre medieval tapestries, where, despite the gory imagery, everyone seemed to have the same neutral dead-pan expression. This one in particular wasn't bloody at all, though. A lady and her tiny child, it seemed. Unlike all the other pieces from this dark age period in the gallery, this particular painting was very sweet. It made Hosah think there was a time in the past where not everyone like him felt as if they were aliens or unusually sentient creatures that just so happened to share a lot of features with their human counterparts.

Looking at all the tidbits of history that surrounded him, the shifter was reminded of his middle school education. Everyone in his class turning and looking at him as the topic of shifters came up in their history classes, learning that, if he were to be born in a different era, he would've been nothing more but a piece of entertainment to the people around him.

The killer wasn't doing anything unheard of when he'd used the anti-growth drug for shifters that go giant rather than shrinking on the sort of shifters on the opposite end of the spectrum, in fact, its a common practice even in todays age, where human trafficking amongst shifters was almost to be expected if you let too many people know what you are.

"I always really liked this era of art." Teddy sighed, the few people also in the exhibition probably thinking he's crazy as he was seemingly speaking to himself, "Makes me happy to think that humans have always made silly art in silly cartoon-ish styles."

"I think they just were all kind of shit at drawing. Too busy, I don't know, slaying dragons or whatever." The shifter observed, ready to move on from the specific painting.

The giant laughed, still fixated on the piece as he spoke, "Who do you think was the one who painted it, the mother or the child?"

"Read the context under it, I don't know."

"Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?" Although Teddy was joking, it was very true, the shifter couldn't sleep at all the night before, it was having its effects on his attitude.

Instead of apologising for his rudeness, Hosah decided to stay silent as his assistant to read out the little plaque that sat under the painting,

"Painting by Misery Carpenter in collaboration with her son Connie. Gothic illumination art estimated to have been created from as early as the year twelve hundred up to twelve fifty."

Hosah stopped to really look at all of the minute details, realising that, yes, this was indeed a collaboration piece it seemed.

“Looks like her son painted himself, whilst she painted herself. To scale probably, it’d be hard to get all of those details with giant hands.” The shifter observed, lifting himself further out from under the fabric to look closer.

“Seems that way,” Although Hosah couldn’t see Teddy’s face from where he sat, he could tell the giant was smiling as he said that.

The pair took in the painting in all of its newfound glory, Teddy realising that he had more to say on it that he’d initially thought,

"Isn't it weird how we just sort of stopped giving our kids names like that? When I was younger, I used to walk around graveyards a lot, just looking at all the headstones, there were so many names like that, one I always remembered was a woman called Morning Star, from the eighteen hundreds."

His rambling sort of put the shifter at ease, little things that would've gotten on his nerves a few minutes ago were now able to be overlooked, filling him with a weird urge to actually apologise for his sour mood, which was something he'd never felt the need to do before.

"..That is weird. Sorry I've been out of it all day, I'm just nervous." It was true, Hosah was very, very nervous to find out whether his art was truly worth what his assistant had exaggerated his skills to be.

Finally, the giant moved on from the creepy painting, heading toward a glass casing filled with the tiniest pottery one could imagine,

"It's okay. We can always try a smaller scale place if that'd make you feel better. Maybe go to a marketplace first, where people aren't gonna instantly think critically, you know?"

Uninterested in seeing any more, Hosah retreated back into the security of the scarf, "Yeah, that sounds good."

It could’ve been out of doubt for the shifter’s talents, or it could’ve been out of genuine care for his nerves, either way, Hosah appreciated the sentiment and would much rather prefer his pieces hang on the wall for someone to wake up to every morning rather than have hundreds of people observe it briefly every day.

Still, in supposedly peaceful and safe moments like this one, Hosah couldn’t help but get his mind stuck on the person who had been following him. A sudden and unprompted wave of guilt washed over his entire form as he came to the terrible conclusion that, this could all be some kind of trick. Something to throw the detectives off the killer’s trail, something to get them so worked up and paranoid about that they run away from the investigation.

“It’s a red herring,” The shifter muttered, frantically trying to get his assistant’s attention.

Rightfully, Teddy was confused, “They just look like ceramics to me.”

“Not- not that, the notes, the package, the gun, the breaking and entering. They’re not after me to kill me, necessarily, they’re trying to throw us off of the case. Get us too worried about my safety to work on it.”

“You think?” The uncertainty in the giant’s voice was nothing but agitating to the stressed shifter, “Seems like a lot of effort to go to, lots of research, lots of time writing the letters,”

“I’m serious. I’m- It all adds up. It’s all- It’s not- I don’t know. They’re never really here, no real true physical threat, it’s always leaving trails and shit behind my back. I don’t know, I’m probably not-“ Hosah rambled, before an interjection,

“No, I trust you. I think we should look into the idea more, before we make any rash decisions.” Although Teddy’s logic was appreciated, an input from the shrunken detective’s higher up, Jeanne, would’ve probably been more useful to him in that moment.

That was the thing with Jeanne, he could tell you the sky is purple and you’d stop to consider his point. He was blunt, his words often having no tone at all as he said them, but that’s what made him come off as such a credible source. That, and his years of expertise.

“.. You’re right. You’re always right. Can you just tell me what to do, step by step, for the rest of my life?” Hosah sighed, a twinge of restlessness in his voice as he spoke, curling himself back up in the crook of the neck, beneath all the layers of the deep red fabric that complimented the giant’s cool toned skin and auburn hair.

Teddy laughed at him, as he usually did when the shifter said stupid shit, like his previous statement, “I don’t know, I think I’d prefer if you made your own choices.”

“I don’t want to anymore. Just direct me, I’d live better that way.” The thought of never having to think for himself again was quite the peaceful one, in Hosah’s opinion.

Maybe the theory was one the shifter had come up with exclusively to put his mind at ease, but in the brief moments where he believed maybe, just maybe, every piece of real and raw evidence stacking against his idea was all just to distract him from the truth, he could finally breathe.

[suekeyyyy]

Merry Christmas.

Homelander x Spider-woman! Black! reader

Warnings: Smut, Fluffy, Christians,Degreeting, Spider-woman, pink, lingerie.

Summary: Jesse is Telaraña or The Boy's in World Spider-woman at 19, and she gets to be a part of The Seven Homelander likes her and they spend Christmas together.

Telaraña sits on of a Billboard Homelander with a Satan hat and his well-known smile. she had her suit on with a pink scarf eating her lunch from a food place nearby called Lucy's, I was just cheese fries with a sprite.

A group of people were below her what, then phones, taking pictures of the Supe some times she would glance at the crowd. When she felt a tap on her shoulder when she looked up, it was Homelander with that smile on. " Hello, Miss Telaraña." Homelander looks at her with an overly happy face almost Lust.

She smiles up at him. " Hi Homelander." She smiles back he looks away with a smirk and cleans his throat." I wanted to ask if you were still up for me coming over from Christmas?" Homelander put an emphasis on the word christmas. She faces him and tilts her head, "Of course."

Jesse sat in her kitchen eating a bag of Ruffles with a small glass of ice tea. When she heard her doorbell, she walked over to her front door to find Homelander right there.

The sudden site of Homelander sent Jesse into a small fan girl of panic, which, of course, Homelander enjoys. 'Ah, that's why Im here her.' He thought as he scrunched his face into a grin as he hovers at the doorway where Jesse is standing. She's wearing the ugliest sweater he has ever seen.

He points to the sweater. "What in the christ is that?" Jesse looks at her sweater that had a white cat with pink all over. "My christmas sweater. " She says with a pure smile.

"It's hideous," he points out. As he takes a closer look at it, he notices Jesse's cute face, her eyes, her smile—he's been with dozens of women, but none of them have had anything on her. "Did you pick that thing out?" " Yeah, to match the house." She says.

He raises an eyebrow. She's definitely not like the other women he's been with. The ones are all concerned with his fame and fortune. This one—there's nothing he could offer her. He finds it curious. "It's still hideous. But you're not..." "The white and pink lights match from head to toe, yes i am." She points to her house.

"Ahh... I don't mean that." He laughs, his eyes drifting up and down her body. "You're—quite beautiful actually. Gorgeous." He leans in and starts to whisper. "Much more lovely than you even realize. Perhaps I can show you." She knew what that face meant Sex... " So you wanted me to wear lingerie on christmas?" She asked.

"Would that be such a crime?" He chuckles. "I'm just saying, if I've got a woman as hot as you are in these—disgusting clothes, then she must wear something far more attractive. If we were going to be... Intimate, it would be a shame if you didn't look like the goddess you truly are." He grabbed her chin. " John, you didn't even come into the house yet to see my gift to you." She says sadly, and he just wanted sex how original. "Really? What is it?" He can't help but smile at how cute she looks when she's disappointed her face would blow up into a pout. " Why don't you come inside and see." She says, opening the door for him.

He follows her in, grinning as she shuts the door. It isn't often that he's in a position like this—being led along by someone, let alone a female, with no power or leverage to use on him. It's something he enjoys now that he's here. She walks into her huge living room where there is a big Christmas tree with pink around it.

He follows her into the massive living room filled with all the pink decorations, and he can't help but whistle. "Wow... You really like pink." He notes that detail."But this isn't... A little much for Christmas?"He asked most people have all kinds of corols." My family is coming cover on Christmas day, so I need the stuff. Oh, and would you want a normal gift or Sexy gift?" She grabbed I small box made of meal zinc.

"Hmm... Well..." He looks off and thinks about it for a moment. "I think sexy is the way to go." He smirks." Well, then you just sit on the couch, and I'll get your gift, Mr." She says, opening the box.

He plops down on the couch with a dramatic sigh, leaning back on it as he watches her. "Take your time, sweetheart. I know you're going to blow my socks off..." 'That's not the only thing I'll blow,' she thought. She comes back into the room with a Christmas bag. " I come only wear one of these outfits, okay?" She says, looking into his eyes.

And, oh my, is he ever looking into those eyes. Beautiful. 'Damn, is she ever not cute?' "Of course, sweetheart," he replies, nodding. "Show me the outfits." First, she pulled on a green Grinch lingerie that had Fur all over the bra top and had the word ' Naughty. ' On the panties. " This was my lease's favorite one." She says

"Your least favorite one?" He asked, amused. "Why not your most favorite one, then?" He glances at the outfit, imagining her in it. "I don't doubt that he was pleased if these are your choices." He smirked. " It's ugly and green, I don't look good in green, but the woman at the store insisted on me buying it so." He stops to think.

"Well..." He looks the outfit up and down, thinking about her in it. "I like that outfit on you. Green or not, I have no doubts it'll be a treat to see you in it. I don't think any color would be able to hide those curves."

" Fine." She drops the outline and pulls out the next one. " I like this one a little more." She says.

( The outfit two )

"... Good god." Homelander mutters, his eyes nearly popping out of his head when he sees the second outfit. She would be stunning in enough the Grinch outfit, but this one-piece...

"How... How could you even ask me which one for you to wear?" He says, laughing. "This one, honey, without question." "I have two more through." She says."What?! Well, by all means, don't leave me hanging on the other two. I just want to see how you can possibly top something as sexy as that one." He grins ear to ear. " Then you hold it." She hand him the outfit.

He smiles and takes the outfit from her hands, feeling the soft texture of it. He looks it over and can't help but raise an eyebrow as he looks back at her. "How the hell did you think anything else was gonna be better than this? Did you just pick the worst outfit to make the rest even more sexy?" He asked with a smirk." Yeah." She says in a teasing voice. " This you like?"

( Third outfit )

Her playful tone and the teasing in her eyes have John almost salivating over her. "I don't like it—I love it." He answers, his breath catching in his throat as he tries his best to keep his cool. "Your body looks absolutely stunning in anything you put on... But that is a show stopper." He looks off into thought." So this one or the second one." She says.

"Honestly... I can't even choose." He chuckles, a hint of admiration in his voice. "You would look hot in both. But if you want me to choose, that one. By a mile." She smiles he always compliments her, but this feels genuine. " Okay. " She hands him the outfit and takes the other.

He takes the second outfit but can't help but turn from it as she hands it to him, his eyes drawn to her hips and how they move. How her body hugs the suit so perfectly.

He clears his throat, his attention being snapped back to the outfit in his hands. "So... You're going to just... Put this on in front of me or?" She chuckles at him. " We still have one more handsome." She smirks. John smiles, biting his lip a bit. "Oh, is that right?" He asks. "Is it safe for me to say that this one is my favorite yet, or that is there still a chance I love the next one more?" She grabbed the outfit slowly. " This one is a little more conservative.

( The last outfit )

The outfit makes him chuckle. He can't help but smile at the absurdity of the fluffy balls, thinking of what it would look like on her body. "Hm... This one really is a lot more conservative than the others, not as sexy as the one before. But you never know... You've got a body that can make almost anything look hot. I'll reserve my judgment until you put it on." He looks her up and down. " So which one do you want for tonight?" She asked.

"Well..." He looks between all three of the outfits, making a mental image of her in each. "Honestly... I don't think there's a wrong choice here. But if you wanted to make me want this night to last as long as possible..." He pauses for a moment. "Then I say we go with that second outfit." He did really care which one it was." Okay." she grabbed the outfit and went upstairs to her room.

He chuckles, watching her walk away—her hips and body swaying with each step. "God, this is going to be a good night."

" Johnny, you can come up now!" She yells from upstairs.

"Don't have to ask me twice," he chuckles. He hurries up the stairs, walking into her room with a smirk. She was wearing the black and red one, and she had a pinkish red Santa hat in her hand.If it wasn't already obvious, he couldn't take his eyes off of her body. Her figure was filled out just perfectly by the outfit. He couldn't have imagined any other outfit that would look better on her. Even her hat made her seem somehow... Cuter.

"You look like a goddamn angel," he remarks, walking up to her. John steps towards her without hesitation.

She slowly sits up. " If you want all this." She moves her hand down her body." You have to wear this." She hands him the hat. He raises an eyebrow and grins. "You want me... To put on that hat?" He asks, taking the hat. " I had to put the outfit on." She says with a pout. He laughs.

"God, you really are adorable." He says, fitting the hat on his head. There's no reason for what it does to him, but she looks so much cuter after he's put the hat on... And she even seems to find it endearing, her eyes widening, her mouth curling into a smile. "There, you happy? Do you think this makes me look stupid?"

" Oh so handsome." She says, kissing him. He can't help but chuckle, kissing her back. It's a silly hat, and he feels stupid wearing it, but she's just so goddamn sweet and lovable that he can't bring himself to hate it. "I'm surprised someone hasn't snatched you up already. You're a goddamn angel." She giggled he pulled her even closer, his eyes closed as his lips met hers. His heart is pounding, and he thinks about how good she feels in his arms.

"God, you're so gorgeous," he says in between kisses. She holds onto his face. John pushes her back into the bed, kissing down her neck. She moans out loud.

The sound of her moan makes his heart race even faster. She's so hot and adorable, and he wants her right now. He lets out some moan of his own when she leans forward on the bed, allowing him access to her neck and the soft curve of her body.They hear a small brak from the other side of her pink room, and she stops to look.

"What was that?" He pulls away from her neck, looking for the source of the noise. She looks over the bed to see Lily the toy poodle on the side of the bed braking. How did they not see her she was sleeping on her dog bed until the moaing started.

Lily's sudden appearance causes John to flinch a bit in surprise, wondering if he'd been spotted.

"Uh... You got a pet?" He asks, noticing the little poodle.

" Yeah, she was a gift from my dad." She says, sitting up and walking Lily out of the room.

"Huh." He says, chuckling. It's probably just because they're in their early 20s, but the idea of someone having a toy poodle is strange to John. He follows her out of the room, though, his eyes lingering on her hips as she walks away."But don't you have the bunny too?" He asked.

" Yes, I do." Jesse let the puppy into the hallway the puppy wandered away.

Once she's out of the room, he follows close behind her. "And where do you think you're going?" His voice has a playful tone to it as he steps up next to her. She giggled. " No where. " She kissed him and closed the door.

He kisses her back, pulling her even close to him. Her soft lips make him shiver. "Good." He says, his hands roaming across her body. Coming to the top of her bra and pulling it down.

🩷 Time skip 🩷

John's laying beside her, his body wrapped around hers as he rests his head on her breast. Her skin is soft and warm beneath his head. He looks down at her face, seeing her face at the most relaxed he's ever seen. The small smile on her lips, the way she looks so peaceful, makes his heart flutter.

"God, you're so beautiful." He whispers and kisses her boobs.

" You're not going to live me here again?" She asked, playing with his hair."How could I?" He smiles, his eyes closed as he basks in her touch. His body still felt warm from their time together. His fingers run through her soft hair. "You're too amazing for me to ever want to leave. I want to spend every night next to you."

" On Halloween, you did it." She says softly.

"Yes, I did." He answers, not wanting to tell her the reason why. How could he tell her? She'll never look at him the same way again. He knows it. "I'm sorry... It won't ever happen again."

" I hope not." She says, holding him close.

Maybe I'll tell her one day... But definitely not now. "I promise." She can feel his heart beating. Her body makes him feel so at ease, and he's never felt anything more peaceful than this. It's impossible to be unhappy or sad when she's here, holding him close.

Notes: 🩷🛍🩰MERRY XMAS!!!🩰🛍🩷

[dinosaurnostalgia]

The Crazy Pachy Lady

If someone asked me what my favourite dinosaur is (...and not what my favourite prehistoric animal is, therefore forcing me to choose from just Dinosauria...), I'd have to say it's probably Pachycephalosaurus.

After taking the group shot I realized I had forgotten to include my De Agostini Pachy. She's made of such a cheap and flimsy rubber that she can't stand on her own.

Pachys weren't that popular among dino toy producers when I was a kid. Well, there were many dinosaurs that I saw plenty of pics of in my dinosaur books but saw in toy form rarely. Crested hadrosaurs (with the exception of Paras that you did see occasionally). Orhithomimids. Small noodly carnivores like Compys. And Pachys. I've always loved their dragon-like skulls, there's just something majestic about them and I find them more interesting than the Big Four that you see most often in dino toys (the Big Four being large carnivores, sauropods, Trikes and Stegos). It wasn't until the Jurassic Park sequel introduced Pachys in Lost World, that Pachy toys started to become more popular.

These two were the only Pachy toys I had as a kid. I was very disappointed with the green one, because it looked nothing like the pictures in my books, it's bald head has barely any crown of spikes around it and in general, it looked pretty awful. But for the longest time it was the only Pachy in my toy box. Then one christmas I received the brown toy on the left. I call her Patchouli.

Dino Riders were an big part of my childhood and I will be eventually writing more about them, both about the toy line and the series. But for now, I want to talk about Patchouli. I loved Dino Rider toys, with their beautiful glass eyes the animals looked more lifelike and less "monstrous" than many of the dinosaur toys in my toy box. The second series of toys introduced the Pachy and I wished it for christmas. I have forgotten about many toys I received as gifts but few stand out and I remember so vividly teh moment of opening the box with Patchouli and seeing her through the clear plastic window of her packaging.

Patchouli remains to this day my favourite Pachy toy. I love her colours, her noble-looking golden eyes, her beautiful stubby horns, I love how much she resembles the illustrations in my childhood books, the pictures that I admired but could never have in toy form until that christmas. I also like that unlike many newer Pachy toys, her feet are pretty small and she still balances just fine even when lowered into a headbutting pose. There are way too many new Pachy toys out there with enormous clown feet just to make them stand. The only thing that seems a bit odd about Patchouli is her tail, which is flat like a beaver's. I think it must be designed so in order to balance the weight so that she can stand in balance even when she's wearing her armor.

Now, after talking about the most beautiful Pachy toy I own, I must also talk about the ugliest one.

Demon Pachy will eat your soul!

I call her Glasya-Labolas, after my favourite Goetic demon. I don't usually buy large dino toys, I prefer the smaller ones that are easier to scale with one another and store. But when I saw Glasya-Labolas for sale on eBay, I had to get her.

Who designed this thing? Why are her eyes blood-red? Why is her throat covered in blood? Why does she remind my wife of E.T.? I don't know. But in all of her hideousness I can't help but like her. I imagine my Pachy herd summoning this demonic Pachy in the dark of the night, praying for protection against carnivores.

[disco-asphodel]

i need to share some of the tags ppl have put on this post. bc they are poems and they made me cry and i think they need to be read

#i keep telling my friends when recommending the game#often stories abt hope are difficult for those that have despaired#bc they boild down to “just believe✨”#and its easy bc there's so clearly smth to believe in in them#but DE shows you the deepest abyss#kneels in it bathes in it#have the despaired go “see?? it gets it!!” as they lie down with it#and then it floats on its back in the abyss and looks up at the stars#a story brave enough to engage with the abyss that tears me up as well#and then even braver still says “there's smth here. you're still alive. as long as you are there is still a chance”#even if you're the most despicable deservedly downtrodden guy you can get a chance#there's beauty in this world. in this ugly cold abyss#thats true hope for me. that's bravery. strength#labern#things of substance#also with how understanding the game is with substance use. not forgiving but understanding.#and how failure is an integral part of the experience. smth u get more out of often#more touching or introspective.#and crucially#more chances to try again and experience smth new#more chances to feel and hope#cries#The simplest most profound aspects of the universe are religious to those recovering from anything-- be it substance grief trauma etc. (via @cockonfetti)

#Ohhhhhh.... Ahhh...#I want to replay in the spring. It's a perfect early spring game#The late winter blooming into hopeful spring... That is the exact time of the year the game takes place in#I think the game will resonate with me in a new way when I next play it as an alcoholic who is clean#The game is depressing in the way that feels like home to those who have BEEN THERE.. And the hope is presents#Might seem bleak but the simple love and joy of the world around you is. And I am not exaggerating.#An addict in recovery's greatest gift from existence.#I spoke mildly on thoreau yesterday and how grief works it's way through the fabrics of transcendentalism#This game presents such a stark commonality to this thought#The simplest most profound aspects of the universe are religious to those recovering from anything-- be it substance grief trauma etc.#To see the true simple beauty of the light one must also be well acquainted with the dark beauty of a bottomless pit#Disco Elysium lays out some of the lowest lows in such stark discomfort-- but it is familiar to us.#And it also lays out hope and sheer love for the world in one of the most cathartically actionable dirty ethos I've ever seen.#Tequila Sunset will in its horrifyingly neon pain see a free simple sunrise once more ❣️#The road is discomfortingly hard. The hardest thing you can do. But existence itself is worth it.#It should make you uncomfortable. It better. But for a lot of us: that discomfort has been a home in our chests for as long as we can#Remember our own selves-- whatever those selves are or was or is becoming#Disco Elysium#Anyways...... I'm listening to a York and tex do a mission together playlist and enjoying my evening. (via @whitmanic)

#when you've hit rock bottom and there is nothing left for you--and then you come out the other end of it alive#you often really do see the world as just#so deeply hopeful and beautiful even in the ugliest parts. sometimes because you have to.#but also because--where else are you supposed to find it? why not here?#how could it not be a gift to feel the bite of the wind? how could i not find joy and beauty in a sea of sodden dead grass?#i see the concept of the pale and yes sure it's disturbing as a concept if you're unfamiliar with it#but as someone who struggles deeply with memory loss and brain fog and psychosis it's deeply relatable and beautiful in a way#idk#i resonate with this post a lot (via @peachybutch)

#same here#i am an addict and i was previously suicidal#sometimes i used to imagine just forgetting everything that ever made me this way#if maybe that would fix me#i also live in a rust belt city whos heyday was about a hundred years ago and will never come back#there are probably like ten harry du bois in my neighborhood at least and i have to hope i never become onw of them (@rot-grrl)

#disco elysium#genuinely disco elysium comforted me in ways that nothing else has#i may not have been an alcoholic#but i can see my own self-hatred sorrows and pain in harry#I've been failed so many times#yet there's still hope (via @zscribez)

#TRUUUUUUTH#im not even an alcoholic (but i am suicidally depressed) but oh my godddd when you manage to heal most of harry and fix things and comfort#people and provide silliness and joy and a stronger community even though youre still broken and in a failing system (COPS !!!!!)#ouurgghhhh#disco elysium#i love de it gave me hope it made me feel so so happy and hopeful#every time i had a Shivers moment i would weep (via @ignorancesbliss)

#and yet i continue (via @planningisnotmystrength)

realtalk but when i see dudes on steam or ppl on tumblr talking about how disco elysium made them feel pathetic and uncomfortable i just. i don’t know. i cannot relate to that at all. disco elysium is about an alcoholic amnesiac poet in love with a dying city who loves him back. if i had never been an alcoholic, if i had never been suicidally depressed, maybe i would think the world of disco elysium is a bleak one. but when you know what it’s like to go through that darkness and come out of it again? to fall back in love with a world that almost destroyed you? disco elysium is the most hopeful story imaginable. it sees the world for what it is and holds nothing back, none of the horror, none of the wonder, none of the love…

something about art comforting the disturbed and disturbing the comfortable i dunno

[thisplacecanburn]

Im really sorry for a long message but we haven't been friends for years and I dont know how else to reach out. I just want you to know I am sorry for how things turned out between us. I never meant to hurt you or any of our mutual friends (I guess for me, ex friend). I know you're probably going to send this to some group chat and you'll all laugh about how lame I am for trying to reach out. The truth is I went through a lot in life very suddenly (and ik everyone does, its not an excuse) and I'm sorry you all had to see the ugliest parts of it. you guys are my roman empire and im sorry life made it hard for me to be the friend you needed. I honestly needed intense support in that time and its okay if you couldnt be that. Im not sure if you care but I genuinely had to go through everything I went through completely alone. You guys were my closest friends and my main support system at the time. I'm sorry if my behavior at the time harmed you in any way shape or form. I know I may not have been a good friend while I was going through things in life, but I never really mentally recovered from being ghosted and excluded by you two. I don't mean to be bitter but I've been afraid to make new friends for years because of the way you guys treated me. I see you reblog posts about feeling lonely and disconnected from others at times and I wonder if you ever realize how much of an impact you've had on other people's lives. I wish there was an easy way for you guys to tell me you were starting to secretly hate me but we were young. I wish we trusted each other enough to actually talk about it. I guess if you hate having me around it's not worth fixing. I just want you to know Im sorry and i know I made mistakes being your friend. Its been 7 years since we stopped being close, 7 years is how long we were friends before that. The anniversary effect is real and I think I've moved on but then I still find myself wondering about how you're doing. I hope you stay friends with the people you actually love and I hope they love you back. I hope you find people who will give you more chances than you gave me. I was hoping to be one of those people cheering you on but you don't want me to be there. And I think Ive finally accepted that. Im not sure if you care, but in case you do: I'm doing okay now so no need to worry about me. Again I am so sorry this got so long and is probably intense and scary to receive with no warning. I have needed to say this to you and I know it's a lot. It seems counterproductive to be this detailed on anon but it feels embarrassing to reach out any other way. You can block me on IG if it bothers you that I'm following you on there. There's no need to respond or reach out if you don't want to. I just don't know if I'll ever get the chance to tell you this. I'll probably never see or hear from you again. And I'm tired of being hurt by that fact. They always said if you love something, let it go. I loved our friendship so much. You were the coolest girl in school. You taught me a lot about life at such a young age. I'm so sad we don't share our lives with each other anymore, but thank you for the time that you did. Thank you for the times you tried to help me. You were someone I really genuinely cared about. I'm sorry if I didn't show it enough. I always admired how brave, sensitive, and intelligent you are. We were girls together. Now you are a beautiful woman and you are going to shine in life.

Thank you for reaching out please message me. I was a mean girl and a bitch to people that needed me for a long time, no one deserved how I treated them I have no excuses. I am full of regret and I miss girlhood and friendships I’ve lost due to nothing more then my own insecurities. The really shitty part is realizing I could have done this to more then one person and can’t even reach out myself. Thank you for being brave and kind and telling me it means a lot to be even thought of.

Please be kind to yourself I am glad you’re okay I hope you find nothing but joy and peace, I understand. Growing up is just so fucking hard

[bookswithdora]

The Beekeeper of Aleppo by Christy Lefteri - Book Review

Whenever I make a break, I always have to come back with some sort of emotional wreck of a book. 

*Spoilers ahead, read at your own risk*

Summary:

Nuri is a beekeeper, his wife Afra is an artist, and their son was used to pushing worms around their backyard in a small plastic truck. However, all of that changed once the war in Syria started and there were no longer bees to keep, the blue rivers of their landscapes turned red and the walls of their home started crumbling one by one.

Through the book, we follow Nuri and Afra on their journey through Europe and to the UK where they are to be reunited with Nuri’s cousin and partner Mustafa.

Review:

Living in Belgrade at the time, I witnessed the refugee crisis. It was difficult to watch, and it was difficult to stand by and do nothing, since there wasn’t much you could do as a broke university student, except maybe donate items of clothing and buy an extra bagel in the bakery when you are able to. I didn’t even realise the enormity of the devastation in their country until I watched a documentary a few months back. 

So I picked up this book. I was told that it was not the best description of what people go through in their journey since it showcased a rather mild experience of the couple we are following. However, it still did devastate me and made me feel like a jerk for even thinking about complaining about the waves of refugees that came through my country. 

Even though the story might be a mild one, it was told in a very beautiful manner. Reserved, yet beautiful. Maybe it was due to the fact that it was told from Nuri’s perspective since he is the type of character that finds it difficult to express his feelings in more than one way. I feel we might have missed out on a couple of Afra’s chapters because she would’ve given us an approach that was raw, more intense and would be much more expressive of how she felt through it.

Nevertheless, the entire spectrum of situations that they went through and the experiences that they lived, decisions that Nuri made in order to get them to a place where houses don’t fall down as theirs did, paint a pretty good picture of how difficult it was for the two of them actually to pull themselves from the clutches of the war they wanted no part of. 

I think I started crying at the very beginning when the author described how Mustafa opened the shop with cosmetic products made of honey and wanted to grow it into a big business for his daughter to inherit once she graduates from university. The way all those dreams were turned to dust and then by the end of the book built anew made the entire story beautifully rounded.

Nuri as a character seemed incredibly unlikable at the beginning and I believed myself not able to feel a tinge of sympathy for him. By the end of the book, however, I realized the heaviness of everything he was carrying and the way he had dealt with love and loss and tried to endure it all without falling apart made me feel so strongly empathetic towards him and his struggle. Not to say that other characters’ struggles were less meaningful, however, his position as someone who needed to stay strong and present a brave face for his wife and everyone around him made me feel for him so much.

I needed a bit more from the ending though. I needed a bit more closure and I needed to see him beekeeping again in a flower field somewhere in northern England, however, I decided to be satisfied with what I got with Afra starting to paint again and him being able to admit to himself that he had a deep issue with emotions and being willing to work on it.

I don’t know if I am able to do this book justice through a mere review, so… if you haven’t already, I would highly recommend you read this book and try to visualise all the landscape descriptions while you read because it will take you through the most beautiful and the ugliest of what this world is. Also, it will paint an amazing picture of all things beautiful that were ruined by the Syrian war. This book received 4 out of 5 stars from me and I will definitely pick it up again sometime.

[bratz-kitten]

ASTRO OBSERVATIONS [part 5]

— people with jupiter in the 8th may experience an “abundance” of traumatic experiences throughout life, often relating to death; these are the people who truly feel like everyone they love ends up dying. at their worst, they can become desensitized to death— jupiter is ruled by sagittarius, a sign known for being in denial when in difficult situations in favor of optimism. these natives can pretend like nothing actually happened, or minimize the situation in their head so that they don’t have to face it.

— okay this might be a weird one... like, you know in asoiaf when arya was walking through the streets and was always like “i’m as quiet as a shadow”? that’s literally the energy of someone with planets in the 12th house/chart ruler in the 12th house. these people are so stealthy. they’re able to move so quietly and without anyone noticing, both literally and figuratively. on one hand, they’re very quiet about their plans and ambitions to the point where other people only find out when they’re achieving success over it; on the other hand, they just. don’t like making noise while walking idk bitch you’ll only see me coming when i’m right beside you, i even get paranoid that i’m breathing too loud and that other people will hear 

— people with moon aspecting mars can be incredibly impulsive when they feel hurt or triggered. yall need to be careful with doing things in the heat of the moment that you know you’ll regret later... but in the moment, you feel so hurt that it clouds your rational side. please be more self-aware about this because you may make decisions that will directly affect you for the worse in the future 

— people with leo mars ft. constantly asking you for pictures... about anything. they just wanna SEE LMFAO THEY DON’T CARE WHAT IT IS THEY’RE SEEING. you just got ready to go out? “send pics of your makeup and your full outfit”. you’re waiting in a long boring line to get the covid vaccine? “send pics of the line”. your mom baked cake? “send pics of the cake”. plus they send so many random pictures while texting, it’s their special love language

— having moon conjunct moon/venus in synastry feels insane. you tell them something you’ve been through, and they’re immediately like “that happened with me as well.” it doesn’t even have to be something grand, sometimes just very specific things you thought were particular about you. the amount of understanding that comes with this aspect in synastry can feel very new and intense especially if you’re used to seeing yourself as the “odd one out”, used to feeling isolated in your experiences 

— people with pluto in the 1st house often feel the need to erase “traces” of their existence, for example deleting messages that they sent people, deleting all of their social media posts. they can feel anxious and paranoid about other people having access to their past self, even if the past self in question is from, like. a week ago 

— people with chiron in the water houses (4th/8th/12th) might’ve suffered bullying to the point where they repress their memories. a lot of their memories of their school years may feel foggy if they were bullied in those years

— also. people with chiron in the 8th house may feel as though they’ve been punished for wanting to experience intimacy. it’s like, the people who were supposed to be the closest to them – for example, their sibling or something – were the ones who hurt them the most. 

— people with mercury-neptune aspects and strong pisces/neptune energy in their birth chart might struggle with only remembering things when they’re right in front of them. you should keep things in your peripheral vision to remind you of reality, especially when it comes to feelings— so that you won’t start getting lost inside your own head. like... keep the letters your friends wrote you by your bedside table so you can read them every time your brain starts convincing you that you’re not loved. keep the gifts you’ve been sent on display in your bedroom wall, or sentimental material things that remind you of past happy experiences.

— earth placements and their thing for asmr... omfg. it’s like they’re always looking for things to up their sensory experience/sensitivity. like, earth signs are the ones most connected to worldly experiences so they feel so soothed with the whole asmr experience: just hearing someone gently whispering or tapping on/scratching things calms them down and helps them fall asleep. they love the tingles it’s heaven for them

— moon-saturn aspects might hold and caress themselves while they sleep because their parents never did. yes i woke up and chose violence <3 your secret is NOT safe with me 💋

— while we’re on the topic of sleeping, a majority of the pisces moons i know need to sleep while hugging something, at least a pillow. they can’t just not hug something while they sleep, it’s very instinctive for them. anyways if any pisces moon needs a pillow to hold, i volunteer as tribute 💋

— virgo placements feel sososo soothed by hearing their cats purr. thinking about how my virgo placement friends are always the ones who send me videos of them petting their cats... and then i get soothed by how soothed they feel. it’s a win win situation, if you have virgo placements it’s hereby your duty to send me a video of you petting your cat while they purr. right now. GO

— people with gemini in the 3rd house might have shaky movements of the hands when other people look at them doing things. very specific i know but the third house rules hands and gemini is a sign that has somewhat of an anxious, twitchy quality to it. on the other hand, people with capricorn in the 3rd house (scorpio risings, using whole signs) have the steadiest hands i’ve ever seen lol their movements ooze confidence, these bitches know how to make you feel as thought they know exactly what they’re doing

— people with venus in the 1st house ft. altering their pics with photoshop and hating posting selfies without filters because they never feel like their appearance is good enough. stop it. you don’t need to always look your best and especially not if your ‘best’ isn’t even what you actually look like. also... don’t even think about making self-deprecative jokes about your appearance. next time i find one of yall saying “ahaha im not bad for a 5 without talent” i’m squishing your head between 2 pieces of toast and calling you an idiot sandwich. you’re BEAUTIFUL 

— having venus in the 3rd house in composite with someone? do you mean calling each other the absolute ugliest nicknames in the most endearing way? 

— leo deals with themes of the ego, and it seems that leo placements often struggle with attracting narcissistic people into their life... leo suns/mercuries can be raised by loud, overbearing, narcissistic parents who see their kid as an extension of themselves and who teach the kid to always be very supportive and caring towards them or else they’ll deny them of words of affirmation-- either by insulting them to shatter their self-esteem or simply never complimenting the kid back. leo moons/mars/venus tend to attract narcissistic partners who only care about serving their own emotional needs and ignore the ones of their partner, and who feed off of their supportive and giving nature. which is why leo placements really need to watch out for being gullible, naïve and dismissing the red flags because my god, you be falling for some shady people. 

— people with personal planets in the 12th house/chart ruler in the 12th house might feel like they can’t let go of their past life— they may dream of memories, people or places from another life. it’s like they can’t detach from it, and even if they can’t directly remember their past life, it’s like they feel it in their bones. also, they might’ve felt... estranged from their family ever since childhood; there may have been feelings of being unable to emotionally connect to their (often, distant) parents, and they might’ve even wondered if they were adopted because of how different they felt to the rest of the family. 

— okay so, a thing that people with saturn in the 3rd house need to look out for is mentally checking out of conversations while they’re still happening. these people can detect when they’re being manipulated really fast and their way of dealing with it can be to immediately shut down, to grow cold and silent and not even bother answering when you’re expected to respond. and, like, that’s great when someone starts screaming at you or being insulting/trying to coerce you into shit, but take notice if you find yourself shutting your loved ones out as soon as they say anything that triggers you. don’t simply detach from them, communicate what’s wrong

— aries placements, ESPECIALLY aries suns and moons, value generosity so much and they get so turned off by stingy ppl who don’t share with others, especially when others need it. like.. if you’re hanging out in a group with them and someone asks for a bite of your food because they have no money and you say no... espect them to never respect you. ever. 

— people with libra placements use soooo many adjectives to describe things. something can’t just be beautiful, it has to be DIVINE and CELESTIAL and INTOXICATING. they can be so expressive god it’s so fcking funny 

— capricorn placements HATE asking others for advice because they think no one knows better than them (and they’re not wrong, lol). when they truly care for someone, they might ask the person for advice simply as a sign that they respect, trust and value their judgement. even if they don’t plan on taking it LMFAO 

— people with mars in a water sign can have this terrible habit of expecting other people to guess what they want. and then they get passive agressive when you don’t instinctively feel what it is they want... and when you ask them “do you want this?”, they go like “FINALLY. i thought you’d never get there”. stop it. i know that you want people to understand you in a way that transcends words, but you can’t expect people to read your mind and then get disappointed when they don’t, thinking “oh if they loved me that much then they would’ve known that i really want chipotle for dinner :(” GIRL WHAT. COMMUNICATE YOUR NEEDS  

[bdudette]

Moving Clouds - B. H.

masterlist || stranger things

Summary: Dear Billy …

Character: Billy Hargrove x F! Reader

Warning Tags: Character Death, Use of First POV, NOT EDITED, Angst ?

When was the first I realized that the clouds moved ?

I think I realized that once upon a time when I was younger, looking up at the dark star filled sky with small clouds covering up the bright moon. I remember just staring and thinking of just how beautiful the sky was. But what amazed me the most was the moving cirrus clouds that’s seemed like little wisps of feathers.

Even now, as I’m writing this and looking at the moving clouds, they look like feathers floating gently in the sky. As if they were drawn quietly with a small brush and with details no one but the painter would be able to see completely.

Sorry, getting out of topic to what I needed to tell you.

I remember when I met you, how you looked, how you walked and even how the clouds looked that day. You weren’t really the nicest in the beginning — charming ? Yes, of course you know you were, but nice ? Not really … The clouds were so different that day, moved the same way but they were still different. And not in a bad way either. I guess that’s when I knew you were someone who’d change the way everyone acted in Hawkins, change the way I was.

But, I was still … cautious of you, if you’d say. You weren’t really calm with how you always wanted to be the best, beating up people and threatening others. And I was always calm … reserved. So it was surprising you were able to push me out of my shell. I got to know you better, know who you truly were and what happened to you — it wasn’t the easiest getting over your walls but you still let me get through even though I knew you could block me out completely …

You know … my most favorite days with you was when you always took me to the edge of hawkins so we could just lay down the meadow and stare up at the sky. Some days were full of laughs, others were filled with tears. And even then, the clouds moved on and on, never stopping when we spent our time together, in fact, every time when I was with you, they’d move slower. They’d look even more beautiful and were always white or colored in the most unique color ever. But that only happened when I was with you.

When … you started to change. When you ignored me and became more … violent. The clouds had started to become darker and darker, moving faster without stop and with fear. I didn’t know why you stopped talking to me. Why you never held my hand or let me kiss the palm of yours. Why we never went to look at the clouds in the meadow again.

Not until the end. Not until the end of our time together, for our lifetime … remember that time we laid down in the meadows that night when you told me you loved me for the first time ever ? The sky was filled with stars and dark clouds that let the moon shine through ? You told me that … you were always going to be by my side. That it would be till death do us ‘part and we laughed because it sounded like we were getting married under the starry and cloudy night …

I guess, I guess it really was that way when you left me behind to be without you. When it felt like the clouds stopped for what felt like forever and the beauty in them disappeared … you know … I hated you for a while because of that. Because without you, the clouds looked the most ugliest they ever have. Even after you caressed my face and told me you loved me with your last breath.

But — I can’t really hold a grudge against you, I never could.

It took a bit before the clouds started to look the same as before I met you. Pretty, but not beautiful. Calming, but not passionate. But the clouds … they started moving on again. Just like I need to as well. And I hope you can forgive me for moving like a cloud without you by my side.

And I hope … I hope someday, somewhere, somehow … we’ll find one another again and go to the meadow. Lay down and hold hands and talk while looking at the moving clouds. I hope someday … I’ll be able to hear you tell me how much you loved love me.

Thank you for the love you’ve given me, Billy Hargrove. You’ll always be my most beautiful cloud.

With loving care,

[Name] [L. Name]

And so she sighed out loud and smiled lightly at the tomb — that read William “Billy” Hargrove — before giving the same gentle look up at the clouds. Staying still for a moment before she moved to put unto the tomb the slightly wet love note under the vase of flowers in hopes that it won’t get moved or accidentally flown away.

When she was done making sure everything on the tomb looked okay. She started standing up slowly. Patting on her pants to remove any clinging dirt. She pursed her lips before moving a hand up to her lips, kissing her forward fingers before placing that kissed hand on top of the tomb.

“ Bye , Billy. I’ll come back again with another note for you whenever I can, okay ? I’ll miss you … “

And with that, she left.

She was free. Free like a cloud. Though she’ll never forget her true love. She’ll never forget to look at the clouds wherever she was and think of him as she moved on to other places with his car. Each and every single day he will always have a part in her heart.

But for now, she’ll move on, move on like the clouds that took her heart as well when she first looked at them just as she looked at him.

[dyns33]

Mummy

Flufftober 29 - Loki x Reader 

I'll be honest, I was not really inspired by this theme, I did my best, and hope you all will like it !

There were certainly more frightening movies than that.

Loki was sure of it. He'd lived surrounded by Midgardians long enough to know they were capable of the worst and the best, and the movies they'd been watching since the start of the night just weren't up to par. He hadn't jumped once.

There were classics, according to  Y/N, who was certainly the best of mankind. It probably was the reason why they didn't watch real horror movies.

Loki didn't care. He wasn't really looking at the screen, focused on his darling. It was a lot more fun watching her reactions.

After Dracula, a story about Werewolf, Halloween, and The Omen, it was the turn of the Mummy.

           "But not the first movie. It's too old. I picked the one with Brendan Fraser. I… I don't know if you can really call it scary."

           "Rest assured, darling, none of the previous films were scary."

           "Yeah. I was a little scared when I was little, but it's mostly funny now."

Obviously, as with fear, they didn't have the same definition of humour, but that was okay. Again, the only thing that mattered to Loki was spending time with Y/N, sharing things that she loved, having her in his arms and feeling that she was happy.

If he had to watch lousy movies for that, then so be it.

Although he was not at all impressed by the mummy scenes, he had seen real mummies before, the story intrigued him a bit.

           "If I understood correctly... All of this is the fault of the Pharaoh and his priests."

           "What ?" Y/N asked, turning to him.

           “It was their curse that gave Imhotep his powers and his desire to take over the world. But before that, he just wanted to be with the woman he loved. Nothing else. A woman who loved him too, who had to be with this old pharaoh, who was really stupid. How can he say that someone touched her because part of the paint on her body is erased ? She has no right to scratch her own arm ?"

His remarks made Y/N laugh, the most beautiful sound in the world, but she didn't add anything right away, concentrating on the movie again, until the final scene.

           "You know... I don't know if Imhotep was really in love."

           "It seems obvious to me that he was crazy about his Anck-su-namun. He was ready to do anything for her."

           "Yes, but even if he has the excuse of the sight problem, he still decides to take another woman, even though he knows very well that it is not her. Okay, he is going to sacrifice her, to get her body, but then that's kind of the only thing that matters, beauty ! He finds her so-called true reincarnation, but it looks like he could put her soul in any body and yet he doesn't choose the ugliest woman !"

           "Hmm. I see what you mean. But, imagine, you would rather I find you a body that looks like the one you had before, or you won't mind if I take the first one you have to live in. For  all eternity ? Because, personally I don't care, I would put you in Stark's body if I have to, and I would still love you just as much. Even if that would be terribly weird."

Laughing again, she gently slapped him on the chest, telling him that he was adorably stupid and that she couldn't believe he had been thinking about this scenario.

Of course he had thought about it. Loki thought every day when he risked losing Y/N. It seemed inevitable, since they weren't immortal. He would live a few more years, but he too would die in the end. Like Frigga and Odin. He hadn't been prepared for their loss, and even remembering that his darling would have to go, he still cried in secret when he imagined the moment.

If he found a way to bring her back, he wouldn't hesitate.

Although he would prefer that she live as long as him. It must have been painful to die and then be brought back to life. Maybe Y/N wouldn't want it either, and she wouldn't be happy if he put her through this, because he was too weak and selfish and in love to live without her.

           "Would you do all of this for me ?" she whispered as the credits scrolled across the screen.

           "Of course. If you want to. Otherwise, I'll avenge you and then join you in death."

           "I don't want you to die because of me."

           "Alright, then I'll sacrifice Stark or whoever comes first, that's noted." Loki said with a small smile, anticipating the new little knock on his chest, then her charming laugh.

           "Weren't you scared at all then ?"

Oh, sweet, beautiful Y/N. Loki stared at her, stroking her cheek.

He could have pretended to be afraid in front of these ridiculous films to please her, but that would have been a form of lie, and he had sworn never to lie to her.

His greatest fear was losing her. Not just because of death, but that one day she wouldn't love him anymore, realising that he was not good enough for her, a loathsome monster and she would leave.

But Y/N knew everything about him, even his darkest secrets, and she was always there.

Like Imhotep, who ran with Anck-su-namun. If he had only loved her for her beauty, he would have simply taken another woman, even if she could never be as magnificent. Beautiful things always ended up fading, then mummifying or falling into dust.

Not their love.

And it was the same with Y/N. Even if he couldn't find a way to make her as durable as he was, he would stay with her as she got older, and he would still love her. He would hold her in his arms until the end.

Because it wasn't her body that mattered. If he met her doppelganger after her death, it wouldn't be her, and then he wouldn't love this person. He would undoubtedly suffer a lot to see her ghost.

As if reading his thoughts, Y/N kissed him, bringing him back to the present.

           "I love you Loki. Don't worry."

           "Yes darling."

           "I'll put on Hocus Pocus. It's a much lighter movie. Then we'll go to sleep."

           "Yes darling." he repeated, ready to do whatever she wanted, as long as she did it with him.

[pascalpanic]

request please? lately i have been having a lot abandonment anxiety when it comes to friendships and i was wondering how you think javi or din might help someone with an anxious attachment style? thank you lovely 🥰

Irrational (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: above ^^

W/C: 2.8k

Warnings: language; talk of fighting and weapons, reader has a panic attack PLEASE be aware that it’s coming and somewhat descriptive.

A/N: I really really love this! I hope you guys do too :) as always, thanks to my beta reading babes!

Din Djarin has been abandoned before. Often on a mission, sometimes on a lone planet with no credits or ways out. He always survives, of course, and vengeance is taken. One thing he absolutely can’t fathom is abandoning someone he loves, or more specifically someone who loves him.

Abandonment isn’t an issue when you’ve never had someone to be attached to. Din spent many many years with absolutely no one. When his parents died, it felt like he was abandoned, sure, but it was clearly not their decision to leave him. When he was taken in by the Mandalorians, they kept him at an arm’s length. He was a foundling; they cared for him well, taught him The Way and The Creed, fed him well. But he was never adopted into a specific clan, rather passed around the covert like the communal task each family had an obligation to fulfill.

Then he became a bounty hunter. The life was solitary and lonely, cold and bleak. It was rare that Din would team up with other bounty hunters, really only when forced to. The Razor Crest became his baby, his only possession and love besides his blasters and beskar. The thing was a piece of bantha shit, but he kept it in good shape.

Then came the kid. Din knew it was wrong. Bounties are to be turned in and paid for, then you forget the job happened. But when that little green thing stared up at Din, the big brown eyes seeming to stare through the dark black of his visor, he knew he couldn’t. This was a child, a baby with no family and no way to protect itself. He certainly couldn’t turn it over to the hands of the ex-Imperials.

Din experienced his first real attachment with the child. He cares for that little thing more than he’s ever cared about anything. He’d cross galaxies, kill and maim and injure for the sake of the little green baby.

Oh Maker, then he met you.

Din had never seen anything like you. You were playing with the kids in the marketplace, laughing as they ran and played around you, before you squealed in delight at the sight of a little green toddler wandering up to you. He’d climbed in your lap, looked up at you with those big eyes, massive ears twitching. You’d stroked his head and cooed to him before you looked up to find his father; subsequently, you felt your heart fall into your stomach at the sight of the Mandalorian man.

“You’re good with kids.”

Well no shit. You nodded. “Yes. I love them. Is this your son?” you ask, looking back down at the three green fingers wrapped around your thumb.

He nods. “He is a foundling under my care.” He watched as the baby grabbed at the golden armband encircling your bicep. You’re absolutely gorgeous. The armband glows against your skin, your beautiful body evident even through the loose and flowing clothing you wear. “Do you take care of these children as a job?”

You shook your head. “No. We don’t have jobs here, necessarily. They just wanted me to play.” You scanned the man, searching for skin. You found none. “Are you green under there too?”

The Mandalorian did not answer. “I’m looking for a caretaker for the child while I hunt bounties. You’d stay in my ship and care for him. I pay well and you’d get to travel the galaxy.”

“You barely know me,” you laughed, removing the little green baby’s fingers from their tight grip on the gold band on your arm.

He gave a half shrug. “He likes you.”

And you’d agreed. And it’s been almost a full cycle now, a cycle of living in the beat-up ship and caring for the little green baby. You’ve seen the most beautiful and the ugliest of planets, experienced extreme heat and extreme cold. You’ve been to beautiful cities, unique jungles and forests and ice planets.

In that time, you got to know the Mandalorian too. It took quite some time to crack his beskar shell. He hardly talked to you in the first month. Then your persistence had loosened him a little, then a little more, then just enough. You know more of him than any other living being does. He’s told you his name: Din Djarin, a name that flows and stops and radiates the power of the bounty hunter. He told you the story of his childhood, of hunts gone wrong and hunts gone right.

You love listening as he tells you and the child the story of the child’s rescue from the ex-Imperials. The baby snuggles against your lap as his father regales the two of you with the epic battles, the fights Din went through for this little child. You both applaud at the end, and put the baby to bed with a kiss between those big brown eyes.

He’s a wonderful man. You’ve formed an easy friendship with him, one that has honestly progressed on your end. At night, you find yourself fantasizing about what he looks like beneath his armor, how the muscles of his broad shoulders move when he climbs the ladder to the cockpit or lifts the child. You like to think he may feel the same for you, but you don’t push it. You don’t want to push him away.

Din has been away for far too long. He always highballs the dates he gives you, saying that an assignment will take three days when he knows it will only take two or a week when it will only be five days. This is a pattern you’ve come to notice; Din is alway back “early”, but now he is late. Really late.

Before he left, Din had opened your bunk compartment, causing you to groan at the light filtering in. You’ve been sleeping since the Crest made a rocky landing on Nevarro a few hours earlier. “Cyare,” he’d murmured, a rare ungloved hand warm on your bare arm, contact broken by your metal armband. You don’t know what the word means. You hope it’s something good.

“What is it?” You groaned, rolling onto your back to look at him. “Leaving?”

He nodded, the silhouette of his helmet-covered head against the soft light of the hull. “Leaving. I’ll be back in four days at the most.”

You offered him a sleepy smile, one that he could see in the warm glow of the lights you’d installed in the ship to navigate easier at night. “Good luck. May the Force be with you,” you teased, making the normally stoic man chuckle a little.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll see you soon.”

You didn’t protest, rolling over and letting the heaviness of sleep drag you back under.

Now, you really wish you’d have talked with him more then. You’re almost certain you’ll never see him again.

You’re not exactly sure what it was in your brain that triggered the thought. Maybe Din just actually took the amount of time he’d said for once, you thought on the fourth day. But now it’s been eight days, double the amount that he’d told you he’d be gone, and you’re stressed.

He always makes good on his word. He should be back by now. He always does. Did he get injured or killed, maybe captured by the bounty he was stalking? You ponder your ideas aloud as you pace back and forth in the hull of the Razor Crest, the little green baby tucked in his soundproof pram to sleep.

There’s likely a rational explanation. You’re sure there is. Maybe the bounty jumped ship, completely threw Din off of his tracks. Maybe the bounty is more clever than anticipated and Din is working extra just to find them. There’s surely a reason, but a little nagging voice in your head says that something is wrong.

In the first few days following Din’s date to return, your primary worry is that he’s hurt or dead somewhere on this barren planet. There are many other bounty hunters here, in this haven for Guild workers. What if one of them discovered Din still has the baby? What if they were coming for you here next?

Maybe you should go look for him. Maybe he’s injured and needs your help. He could be held by another hunter, or by the ex-Imperials- you can’t even bear to think of them harming Din for taking their precious cargo back. The thought makes you squeeze the little green baby tighter to your chest, even after he gives a whine of annoyance at the pressure.

But Din would never forgive you if you put yourself in harm’s way for him. This planet is dangerous, full of bad people who will do what it takes to get their credits. Most importantly, you can’t leave this ship with the kid. Certainly people here are looking for him. Someone would spot him and you’d be in for disaster. The anxiety fills your days and even seeps into your dreams, making you sleep less and more fitfully. On the eighth day, perhaps the most terrifying idea strikes you: what if Din just... left you?

Of course, there are plenty of signs why he hasn’t. The ship is one of his rare material possessions. He’d never give up the machine that’s been a home to him for the last however many years. Weapons are part of his religion, and he only took a sparse amount with him for this hunt. His prized pulse rifle still hangs in his armory, with an abundance of whistling birds he didn’t take either.

Most importantly, you’re still here with the kid. The baby is practically Din’s son. He adores him… but what if it’s all too much? You’ve become like a little family. That may be too domestic for him. Maybe he’s sick of the responsibility, of caring for two beings when so much of his life has been solitary. Even worse, maybe he’s just sick of you.

There are plenty of rational explanations. You know it. The baby can sense your anxiety, can feel the tension running through the air surrounding you, and he feels it too. He’s fussy, requiring more snacks and more attention. He tugs far too much on your armband and it pinches now, his little claws getting too long. You don’t mind- it’s a distraction, really- but your mind is never fully on feeding the baby, rather hyper analyzing Din’s mind as you know it and hoping he’ll return.

The hours pass. Din doesn’t return. You become more and more certain that he’s abandoned you for good. He isn’t coming back, ever, because he hates you. He was nice to you as a courtesy, nothing more, only as a protector of his child. This type of family is too much for the lone-wolf style man. He can’t do it anymore. You’re on your own.

In your head, the thought of him abandoning you is too much. It weighs heavily on your self-esteem, convincing you that this is all your fault and you’ve done too much, or not enough, or something wrong in general that sent Din packing and gone. He did it because you’re annoying, because he’s sick of you.

Rational thoughts are pushed to the furthest corner of your mind. Your brain is occupied by self hatred, by terror, by a sickening buzzing feeling in your head and chest that feels like a parasite eating you from the inside out.

It’s too much. You fall to the floor, sliding your back down the metal wall. Your rear contacts the floor as the tears fall from your face, your emotions drowning out your senses. You can’t use any of your senses, just think and process the agony your brain is putting you through.

Burying your face in your hands, you finally allow the tears you’ve been holding in all week to flow. It’s a relief, the hot tears streaming down your equally hot face, blood rushing to the surface. The anxiety buzzing in your head has reached a breaking point; you’re sure the tension is boiling your brains, making it bubble and roil as the thoughts pull you down and down so far you feel you’ve fallen through the floor of the Crest and into the dry Nevarro dirt.

You nearly wail, wheezing in air only to expel it in harsh sobs as the fear wraps your body and constricts it. You’re enveloped by it, trapped in a coffin mixed with a tornado mixed with a firestorm and a hurricane.

Then it all stops. The heat is broken by something cold- beskar. You force your eyes to see and they finally perceive that Din is in front of you. Then you feel again, feel the chilled metal all over your skin as he wraps his arms around you. You smell him, his faded soap from whenever he bathed last, his sweat and the smell of the Nevarro dust. You can taste your salty tears. The last sense to come back puts you most at ease: his voice. “Talk to me, please,” Din asks of you.

You nod and try to speak, but you’re still gasping for air, your lungs unable to fill. When you slow down and make yourself breathe, you’re finally able to manage words. “Thought you were gone forever. Thought you left because of me.”

The beskar helmet tilts to the side, taking you in. You’re sure you’re a mess; eyes bloodshot, face tearstained, snot probably all over you as well. Din’s quiet for a moment. “Why would you think that?”

“You said four days. You always come back early, but you were gone for eight days.”

His chest rises and falls slowly beneath the beskar plate. “I know. I’m sorry. But why would you think I’d leave you?”

The tears return. “I don’t know, Din, I-”

“No, shh,” Din murmurs and wipes your face. “No more tears. I’m here.”

Din stands and takes you with him, his arms wrapped tight around your body to bring you to your feet. He walks you to the edge of the bunk and hands you a canteen of water to drink. You look at him and he looks back. There’s a silence and an unspoken battle between the two of you over who will break it.

Din breaks first. “I got the bounty easily. I was late because of… something else.”

Your face falls into a frown. “You took double the amount of time and didn’t tell me? Whatever this ‘something else’ is, it better be worth it.”

Din breathes in and out deeply before producing a soft fabric bag. “I didn’t leave you. I’m back. And… I got you something to show that I’ll never leave you.”

From the bag, his leather-covered hand produces something silver. Your eyes, blurry with tears, take a moment to perceive it: an armband of some silver material- oh, it’s beskar. It’s cold to the touch but you take it from him to admire it and find it is emblazoned with an insignia: a mudhorn. “The symbol of Clan Djarin,” he says gently, though he’s sure you know. It’s on his pauldron. It’s on the baby’s necklace. “We… are a family, aren’t we?”

You don’t respond; rather, you throw your arms around his neck and the tears return, but happily. “We are,” you whimper, your throat constricted by a sob. You cry into his neck, staining the fabric of his cowl and cape with your tears.

He understands they’re good tears, and so he lets them flow. His arms wrap around you and rest on your back, gently rubbing it as you cry into him. As the sobs calm, the tears end, you remain in his arms. Din holds you tight against his chest. “I’ve never made a better decision than hiring you. It was supposed to just be a babysitting job, but… I fell in love.”

Your heart stops and you pull back. “You’re in love? With me?”

Din nods. “I… yes. I am.”

A smile crosses your face, the joy emphasized by how wide your smile is in the presence of your tears. “I love you too,” you manage before your throat squeezes off your words, making you cry happily and hug him yet again.

With your face buried in his neck, you nuzzle your face in and are rewarded with a soft patch of stubbled skin beneath the tip of your nose. You can feel his throat vibrate when he speaks again. “We are a clan of three now. I promise you, I will never leave you. Don’t even entertain the thought again. Understand?”

You nod, not wanting to move your face and lose contact with this intimate spot of him, the first humanness you’ve been able to get beneath the beskar. You kiss the skin there softly. Din knows it’s your answer: understood. I love you.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles

[brandyllyn]

To sell your love for peace (01)

Javier Peña x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Summary: You weren’t his type but he was willing to make an exception.  Words: 2500

Other Chapters My Masterlist 

Rated: Hella Explicit.

Warnings: language. fingering. PiV. prostitution. Javier is a normal amount of asshole.

You were pretty. That was the first thing Javier noticed after you threw open your apartment door. Not the brittle beauty of the girls that he usually preferred, but a basic almost wholesome kind of pretty that he knew a lot of men paid good money for. Javier stepped inside, carefully scanning the street behind him and then guiding you back into your apartment with one hand on the base of your spine. He closed the door behind him, being sure to lock it.

You introduced yourself and he nodded. "Javi," he offered, holding a hand out and taking note of the calluses on your fingertips when you took it. He scanned the small living room, taking in the quilt hung on the wall and the small painting of flowers near the kitchen.

"Can I get you a drink?" You asked, hands nervously running down your thighs. He nodded and you disappeared into the kitchen, the skirt of your dress skimming across your thighs. He took in your assets almost dispassionately. You had a cute, girl-next-door vibe. Someone a man could pretend to be in love with for the night.

You probably had more work than you knew what to do with.

The whiskey bottle you held up was exactly what he was hoping for and he nodded at your questioning look. You met him in the living room with two glasses, walking around the threadbare couch and settling onto one end. He sank into the other, shrugging his jacket off.

"Vanessa says you know each other-"

"From work," you finished for him, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before looking away. He was used to this. A lot of men were harsh with the girls, and as a result there could be a hesitancy in women in your profession around unknown strangers. It was important that he made himself as non-threatening as possible.

"From work," he echoed, taking a drink from his glass but not probing on that subject further. "How long have you lived here?"

Glancing around the apartment you shrugged, "A few months? I moved her from Medellín last fall."

Javier made a note of that, sipping his whiskey. "The place is nice, I like the quilt."

You smiled, finally, seeming to relax a bit. "My grandmother made it."

He smiled back, "I have a blanket my great-grandmother crocheted. Ugliest thing you’ll ever see. Old bat was colorblind." You gasped and choked on the whiskey and his grin grew wider. "You okay?"

"Yes," you croaked, holding a hand to your throat. "Just, went down the wrong way." Your eyes met his from under long eyelashes. "My grandmother would murder me if she heard me talking about her like that."

"Mine’s already passed," he shrugged. "I’m not worried."

"I’m sorry." You reached out and touched his knee and then jerked your hand back. He clocked that as well.

The whiskey was good, not expensive by any stretch but not cheap shit either. He watched as you fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, glass in one hand. Finally you said, "Vanessa says you’re… that you can pay. For… information."

This was what he had been waiting for. He leaned forward, dropping his glass to the table and turning his body towards yours. "That depends on the information."

You swallowed and nodded to yourself. "I know some… I heard something. About…"

He knew this dance as well. Knew why you were hesitating. "If you help me I promise to do everything I can to keep you safe."

You nodded again, still not looking at him. "If I knew something about Escobar. And his plans. That would be worth something?"

"If it turns out to be true," Javier raised an eyebrow. "If it helps us, then yeah. It’s worth something."

You nodded, silently staring into your glass.

"Do you know something?" he asked, watching your face. You stared into the distance before the words tumbled out.

"There’s a hit. On Friday. The Minister of Finance."

Javier blinked. He knew that. Six weeks of surveillance by the CIA hoping to find a connection for their own purpose had dropped the nugget of information to the DEA. It had taken a lot of wrangling and horse-trading to get the info, and even now he could admit it was more dumb luck than skill that had gotten them the notice.

Dumb luck, skill, and now you dropping it in his lap.

"How do you know that?" He asked and his eyes narrowed when you shook your head at him.

"I can’t- please don’t ask me that."

Also not uncommon. If the relationship continued he’d get it out of you eventually. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a pack of smokes, giving you a questioning look and offering one to you. He lit it after you gave permission, letting it dangle from his fingers as he watched you.

"How do I know this is good intel?"

You sighed, setting your glass down on the coffee table. "The man, the one who is going to do the hit, his name is Jackal."

Javier sat bolt upright, dropping his cigarette across his empty glass. That was a name he’d only heard a few times. A sicario that had thus far evaded any attempt to get a photo. "How the fuck do you know that name?"

Again you shook your head. "I asked you not to ask me that."

He bit off his retort. If you had a lead on Jackal, even if it was only hearing about him in passing, then he needed you to keep offering him intel. Needed you to trust him and tell him how you knew this. He pulled his wallet out with a grunt, opening it and thumbing through the contents. Javier looked at you through the cigarette smoke as he dropped a twenty onto the table.

"Until I can confirm," he paused and looked you over. You weren’t really his type. He liked his girls primped and preened, long nails and perfect makeup. But then again, there was something about the smooth skin that your dress showed, the curve of your thigh, the way he could see your nipples pebbled against the fabric. You weren’t his type but he was willing to make an exception. Slowly raising an eyebrow, he held your eye as he counted out another sixty bucks. "Yes?"

You nodded, licking your lips, the action making his cock stir. He added another twenty onto the pile, making it an even hundred, before folding the remaining cash and shoving it back into his jacket. "Drink up," he motioned at your glass, picking his cigarette up and taking a puff.

"You’re beautiful," he said conversationally and you choked again. His brow furrowed. It was just something to move the night along. To get out of the idea of you being an 'informant' and back into your day - well night - job. The girls usually liked it when he complimented them, winking at him and offering to show him all of their beautiful parts. But you seemed flustered and your chest heaved.

It was an amazing act.  

"Can I kiss you?" A standard question. Every girl had a different standard for what they were willing to do - the intimacy they were comfortable with. Judging from your look and demeanor - your schtick was 'hometown sweetheart'. Javier was pretty sure the answer would be yes.

Sure enough you nodded and he carefully set his cigarette to the side, shuffling across the couch and cupping his hand behind your neck. Pulling you closer to him and gently pressing his mouth to yours. Your lips parted on a gasp and he took advantage of it, thrusting his tongue deep and licking inside of you.

You smelled sweet. Tasted it too. He was used to women who tasted like cigarettes, maybe alcohol - just like he was sure he did. But you tasted like sugar and he delved his tongue deeper into your mouth to chase it. He wondered, idly, if you would taste as sweet all over. If maybe tonight would be the night to break his general distaste on going down on a hooker. He always thought, in the back of his mind, that he would end up with a mouthful of someone else’s cum if he did.

He didn’t begrudge you your profession, but there were some aspects of it that frankly didn’t interest him.

You moaned softly and he wrapped his arms tighter around you, guiding you backwards until you spilled down onto the couch. He slipped his hand under your shirt to palm at your breast, your back arching up to him with a small gasp. Oh, he liked that. The air of inexperience rather than the usual carefully orchestrated arches and moans. He thrust his tongue into your mouth, finding your nipple with sure movements and rolling it between his fingers.

You cried out, your hands tugging at the strands of his hair and your thighs parting so he could settle more firmly between them. His lips ghosted down your neck, digging his teeth into the soft flesh and you trembled. You fucking trembled and Javier made a mental note that he had gotten a deal with the hundred he had dropped for you.

His hands pulled at your clothes and you dropped your own to help, pushing the top of your dress down. Reaching behind his neck he pulled his shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons, and then leaned down and pressed his chest to your bare skin.

"Fuck you feel good," he groaned into your mouth, tongue darting out to taste you once again. Your fingers skimmed down his spine, slipping beneath the band of his jeans and then rising back up. He wanted your hands on him and he reached behind himself to catch one of your wrists, dragging it between your bodies and pushing it beneath the denim. Your touch was soft at first, hesitant, but a thrust of his hips pinned your fingers between his cock and your stomach and he could rock himself into your palm.

It took very little adjustment to press his mouth to your breast, to pull your nipple into his mouth and tug. Your hand clenched around his cock and you let out a soft whine that sounded almost like his name. He grinned, moving to your other breast, rubbing his cheek to your soft flesh.

"You smell like cookies," he groaned, licking underneath your breast and then up to your neck. "Fuck, how do you smell like fucking cookies?"

"It’s vanilla," you gasped and he pressed his nose to your neck, inhaling the soft scent. It reminded him of home, of lazy weekend mornings and a domesticity he had left behind in Laredo. Powdered sugar on almond dough and canned preserves pulled out for Sunday breakfast.

Fuck he definitely hadn’t paid you enough.

He shifted his weight on the couch, reaching down to stroke up your thigh. He felt you shiver and then his fingers met soft cotton. Soft, damp, cotton.

"Oh sweetheart," he pressed his lips to your cheek, pushing the fabric aside and running his hand through your slick heat. "You’re so wet. For me?"

You didn’t answer but your thighs parted further and his thumb slipped over your clit. He heard you gasp, pulled back to see you bite your lip and arch your neck.

"Can you come for me pretty thing? Come on my fingers before I fuck you?"

The hand that was in his pants shifted, fingers wrapping around his cock more fully and he dropped his forehead to your shoulder and matched your movements, slipping two fingers inside of you. Felt you squeeze around him even as your hand tightened and slid across his cock. If he wasn’t careful he was going to come in his jeans like a fucking teenager.

He sat back on his heels, using his free hand to pull your hand out of his pants. With a careless twist of his wrist he flipped your skirt back and tugged your panties to the side. "Oh that’s a pretty little pussy," he growled, "you think you can take three?" He didn’t wait for a reply, pulling your hips up so they rested on his thighs and then slipping three fingers deep inside you. You reached over your head with both arms, twisting your hands into the pillow under your head. The action lifted your breasts up higher and Javier wished he had a third hand so he could pinch your nipples while he played with you.

Three fingers in your cunt, two fingers of his other hand rubbing across your clit. He could fucking hear how wet you were for him, felt your muscles clench around him, your knees rising further to his sides. "Yeah, fuck baby that’s it."

He wouldn’t say you screamed when you came. The sound was lower than that, more of a helpless cry than anything else. Your mouth opened in a perfect 'O' - a shape made to take his cock. Maybe next time. Right now, he wanted to be inside of you.

His jacket was on the floor and he retrieved a condom while you were still recovering, slipping it on and giving himself a couple of short tugs. Leaning forward and propping one hand on the pillow next to your head, he pushed your panties to the side. Lining himself up and slowly sliding inside of you.

You had been tight on his fingers, on his cock you fit like a fucking glove. He pressed all the way, watching your face as you took every inch of him. The way your forehead crinkled and you bit your lip. Then your eyelashes fluttered open and you met his eyes.

Fuck, you smiled at him.

He fell across you, thrusting his tongue into your mouth and taking you hard and fast. He could feel your nails raking down his back, your legs lifting to wrap around his hips. He wanted to make you come again, wanted to feel you shudder and moan beneath him.

But your hands came up to cup his face and you moaned "Javi" directly into his mouth and he fucking came. Body hunching over yours as he cursed and grunted, fucking hard into you and then dropping his forehead to yours.

"Fuck I’m sorry," he mumbled, kissing you softly.

"For what?"

He groaned and pulled out of you, leaning back to the other side of the couch and stroking his hand along your calf. "I’m not usually such a fucking two-pump chump."

You pulled a blanket from the back of the couch, tucking it under your arms and covering your legs before sitting up and placing your hand over his. "Maybe… maybe we try again?"

Javier leaned his head back and shut his eyes. How the fuck did that make him feel worse? "No, I have to go. There’s something I gotta… anyway. I can’t stay."

"Oh."

He turned and looked at you, reaching out and chucking you lightly under the chin. "Maybe next time?"

Your smile was bright enough to light up the fucking city. For just a moment Javier felt like he was the only man in Bogatá.

God damn you were good at this.

.

Pt 2

.

Taglist:

@hnt-escape, @kesskirata , @supernaturalgirl , @notabotiswear , @wonderlandgabby , @pascalesque

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Slumbering Hearts (Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language/brief nudity Warnings: None Summary: In a wicked twist of fate, you find out your soulmate is none other than your employer, Lady Dimitrescu. To your misery, she (at first) seems equally displeased, her heart already belonging to another. But in time, the two of you find yourselves wondering... could the universe be right, after all? Soulmate AU in which every person has a unique "soul mark", which they share with their soulmate. Notes: Reader is gender neutral, but at some points will be described as leaning towards being feminine (due to personal interpretation of Alcina's character). Additionally, Lady D will eventually be referred to by her first name, so don't worry if you feel weird about her being called by her full title all the time, it's just for this chap, when the reader isn't familiar with her. Lastly, this contains a bit of one sided Alcina/Miranda, which serves as a plot point, but is (clearly) not the primary ship.

1: In The Shadow Of Giants

Three months, two weeks, and one day. That’s how long you’ve been at this accursed castle, serving cruel mistresses, having been plucked from your peaceful life in the village. Anger stains your every thought, slowly festering inside your chest. There is no cure, at least not without a fatal price, but there are mild remedies. ‘Tis not long before the other servants learn to give you the more physically demanding chores. Nothing numbs your mind quite the same way that chopping firewood does, though you often settle for hard scrubbing age-old tile. Every day ends with your muscles crying from the effort of it all. Every day… except today. Another servant, from the night shift, has been wounded severely, and her job was deemed too important to be foregone.

And, as such, she has been replaced. By you. For once, you turn in early, long before your clothes can become stained with sweat. Yet you aren’t happy, not when you know that this change will ruin your sleep for weeks to come. Even worse, it’ll be impossible to avoid your ‘employers’, whereas working the day shift meant almost never seeing them. So far, you have only seen them on four or five occasions. Hell, you’ve only met two of them, being Cassandra and Bela. Based on what others told you, the other two weren’t much (if at all) better. As you try your best to get some rest, only a single ‘positive’ thought runs through your head: Well, worst comes to worst, I’ll get killed, then I won’t have to worry about anything anymore.

---------------------------

“Remember: No talking unless you’re asked a question. The Mistress has had a rough morning, and this is her best chance at relaxing,” Juniper explains, for what seems like the eighth time since the two of you met. There’s a nervous energy around her, which does little to ease your own anxieties. If you heard correctly, she’s only been at the castle for a couple weeks, having previously worked for Mother Miranda. You’re not sure what would have caused the transfer, considering most who were ‘fired’ ended up dead. Something told you that it had to do with antsy nature. “Oh, and don’t leave unless dismissed, even once your part is done. We all need to be ready, in case Mistress- I mean, Lady Dimitrescu needs something. Sorry, I’m still getting used to how things work here.”

“As long as you don’t slip up in front of her and get us both killed, I don’t really care,” you replied, giving Juniper a level stare. Clearly unsure how to respond, she pauses for a moment, mouth opening then closing without a sound. Once she’s seemingly composed herself, you give a short nod and push open the door to the bathroom. Two other servants are already inside, and they flinch at your arrival, briefly mistaking you for their boss. “I can hardly believe they made me change shifts for this,” you add, under your breath, rolling your eyes. What was so important about making sure a few candles stayed lit? During bathtime? Maybe it was something you had to be a giant, vampiric noblewoman to understand. Regardless of your annoyance, you quickly get to work, striking the first of a couple matches. It’s a rather dull task. To think you would have preferred heavy labor to this.

Before long, the last flame springs to life, and Juniper dims the lights, allowing the candles to become the focus. At least one is scented, though you cannot place the specific kind. Less than a minute after the last one is lit, the door once again swings open, revealing your most elusive employer. She’s… more than you anticipated. In every conceivable way, truthfully. Taller, more graceful (even as she has to duck through the entrance), and, as much as you hate to think so, far, far more beautiful. If not for the warm lighting of the room, you would have worried about someone seeing your blush. Certainly I am not the first to react this way, you think, as you bow alongside the others.

“Yes, yes, get on with it,” Lady Dimitrescu says, with a sharp frown. Then she moves closer to the tub, which you imagine could fit half a dozen ‘normal’ people, and holds out her arms to her side. For a moment you’re confused, but you instinctively mimic the motions of the other maidens. Together the four of you reach for her robe, gently taking hold of it while she steps into the bath, before hanging it onto a nearby hook. A second later your entire world is turned upside down. You’re freezing in place, eyes wide, as the bare back of Lady Dimitrescu reveals itself to you. Yet this is not an instance of poorly veiled lust. No, it is equal parts horror and repulsion, for you find yourself staring at a distinctive soul marking.

One that matches your own.

Beside you, Juniper watches you with concern, silently urging you to stay silent. Neither of the other two servants seem to react, other than by taking a small step backwards. Unable to speak, let alone form coherent thoughts, all you can do is point a trembling finger towards the soul mark. It’s right in between Lady Dimitrescu’s shoulder blades. Once upon a time, you had marveled at the design, smiling every time you saw it in the mirror. Now, it might as well be the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen. Based on her expression, Juniper seems to agree, although for different reasons. As your hand drops back to your side, you try to compose yourself enough to focus on the task before you. Instead, someone breaks the quiet, boldly, daring to think that they would be rewarded for it.

“My Lady,” a servant says, stepping forward, shooting you a waywards glance. Instantly she has your employer’s attention, though that comes with the metallic sssssslk of her claws extending. There’s an unspoken threat that demands respect. None comes, however, just the frenzied words of a panicked maiden. “I know who your soulmate is, my Lady. I thought that perhaps you’d-”

“A name. Give me… a name,” Lady Dimitrescu interjects, claws still out and impatiently tapping on the tile floor. Tense, you start to step forward, wanting desperately to silence the treacherous maiden. But her tongue is faster than your fist, and soon enough your name is echoing through the room. “Oh? The one right behind me, hmm? Dreadfully convenient, really. Step forward, dear, and let me see the proof. Assuming it exists.” All eyes other than hers are on you, now. With a deep breath, you begrudgingly step in front of Lady Dimitrescu, trying not to even briefly glance at her chest (or worse, lower). One of her hands shifts, a long claw tilting your chin up. “Well?”

“Forgive the placement,” you mutter, awkwardly grabbing your shirt collar, tugging it down to reveal your soul mark, planted neatly on the center of your chest. If Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze wanders, it does so too quickly to be noticed, though she does make a low humming noise at the sight. Feeling much like a piece of meat on display at the butcher’s, you scowl deeply. Soon enough, but not as soon as you’d like, the claw under your chin retracts, and you once more cover up your soul mark. You can’t bring yourself to look your soulmate in the eyes.

“Hmm. Not what I expected. Not at all,” she muses, more to herself than to you, softly. Behind her, Juniper is sending you a sympathetic expression. All you can do, as Lady Dimitrescu judges you, is glare at the origin of this revelation. What did she think to gain by speaking up? Hadn’t she heard the same rumors that you had? Didn’t she know that your employer already loved another, even if that affection was unrequited? There was, simply put, no chance that you were the preferable option. Not when there was no race against neither time nor death. At best, you could be a distraction. Something to keep her mind off of the person she’d rather be with. “Go clean up, get some sustenance if you must, then go to my quarters. We will discuss this further there- after I am done here.”

With that said, she waves you off, letting you relax for the first time in several minutes. After giving a short bow, you immediately move to leave. On your way, you intentionally bump shoulders with the maiden who spoke up, sending her a glare, then give Juniper a nod of acknowledgement. Nervous wreck or not, she was the only person you ‘knew’ on the night shift. Not that such a thing would even matter soon. To think that we’ve been soulmates this whole time, you think, living in the same castle for months, never seeing each other. I wish things could have stayed that way. At least you’d have some time to process your developing situation. Though you doubted you’d have enough time.

---------------------------

In an unusual change of pace, Alcina dismisses the rest of her servants, long before her bath is done. They exchange glances before scattering to the winds. A heavy sigh leaves her lips, and she sinks lower into the tub. Of course I have a soulmate, she thinks, bitterly. I knew this. Knew that it wasn’t her, and yet still, I find myself surprised. Disappointed, even. How had an already rough evening gotten even worse? More than that, what was she supposed to do about it? There was a part of her that wanted to kill her soulmate. She figured that, with them out of the way, the universe might finally understand who she was meant to be with. After all, it wasn’t uncommon for ‘widows’ to be given a new match, and those were generally other ‘widows’. Considering that Alcina knew for a fact that Mother Miranda’s soulmate had long since died, she did not think that her hopes were beyond possibility.

But there was another part of her, quieter, that dared to be more realistic. If the universe said that this human, this tiny thing, was her soulmate… would it not make sense to at least try? What harm could it do, when her current love had been unrequited for so long? Was this not the end to several decades of loneliness? Damn it, she thinks, gripping the edge of the bathtub until her knuckles turned white. There was no denying it, now that a single drop of rational thought had corrupted her mind. Fuck it all, I hardly have a choice. Or anything to lose, for that matter. With her decision made, she rises to her feet, emotionally ready to face the unknown.

---------------------------

“Ah, so you do follow directions, after all. I half expected to learn that you had attempted to flee, or perhaps had a gruesome run in with one of my daughters,” Lady Dimitrescu chimes, as she ducks into her room. Inside, standing at attention, you await. All of your earlier nervousness returns, though this time it is tinged with your natural rage. Of all the monsters in the world, this was the one you were expected to love. It mattered not how tall she was, or how sharp her nails could be, or how fierce her loyalty to Mother Miranda. To you, it mattered that you had no choice in being here, that only a handful of servants had come to the castle willingly. It mattered that a single mistake could mean a cruel death. So you did not greet your soulmate with a smile, or excitement, rather with a forced bow and blank expression. Better to be dead than to fake true love. “Come now, do at least pretend that you are excited, for my sake. I have been waiting a century for this, after all.”

“Perhaps the universe found it difficult to find someone who could love you,” you say, the words tumbling out of your mouth, instant regret boiling up inside of you. What you expect is a swift death. What you get? A deep sigh, a scowl, a look of frustration. Still fearing your possible demise, you are quick to keep speaking. “Or maybe the universe heard me talk once, and struggled to find someone to tolerate me. Countless possibilities, a galaxy full of mysteries… and here we are. Forgive me for being crass, my Lady. I would blame it on my schedule change, but something tells me you would see right through that lie, yes?” Not like that was much better, you think, wondering how the hell you were going to survive this.

“You’re quite the character, aren’t you?... Do try not to make me regret this, I’d rather not kill my soulmate. Now, sit down, it’s about time for a proper introduction,” Lady Dimitrescu commands. Then she’s sitting on the edge of her bed, gently patting the spot next to her. Joining her is just about the last thing you want to do right now… but you obey nonetheless. Still, you angle yourself away from her ever so slightly, hoping the subtle body language would help you distance yourself from her. There’s something in her expression that tells you she knows exactly what you’re trying to do. “I am Lady Dimitrescu, though you already know that. You may call me Alcina… for now. Behave, or that is one of many privileges I will not hesitate to take from you. Understood?”

It takes all of your willpower to avoid rolling your eyes, but you manage, instead giving a short nod. This’ll be interesting, for sure.

[wyattjohnston]

got this love thing going on - tyson jost

series: this is getting good now

word count: 1,553

summary: just how many estate sales does it take to find exactly what you're looking for?

Flick was still surprised that Tyson was happy to join her at Estate Sales. For the better part of twelve months, they had been attending just about any Estate Sale they heard of, all because she was being fussy about an engagement ring. It had been a matter of chance that one popped up during their vacation in Aspen during bye week, so they left Nate behind in town and Piper on Aspen Mountain, wore the best clothes they’d brought with them and driven just out of town to yet another ridiculous mansion.

As they pulled up, Flick couldn’t help but crane her head to see it. The photos on Google had made it clear that they were heading to a beautiful home but in the snow, it was even more stunning. In their visits to Estate Sales, they had seen some gorgeous houses; mansions that Flick had never imagined she would step inside of.

“Do you ever think—when we come to these places—that there are people we know who can afford something like this?”

“Mostly I think about how we can’t,” Tyson admitted, stopping the car, and cutting the engine. “I guess Mikko or Nate could.”

They both checked themselves out in the mirrors on the car visors, making sure they looked up to par with the other people walking in; Flick’s friends from back in Vancouver would argue that they definitely did belong in the Estate Sales despite how out of place she always felt. Some of the people they passed on their way in looked very much as if they belonged in the multi-million-dollar home; other looked like they were trying as hard as they could. Flick hoped they were part of the former group, because there was nothing she hated more than having her every movement scrutinised because they’d dressed too casually.

“Person who finds the ugliest thing wins?” Tyson asked just as he did every time they walked into a house.

Flick nodded, always conflicted about judging other people’s tastes. She thought back to the solid gold, diamond encrusted statue someone had of themselves displayed in the foyer and any confliction was gone.

Being so close to home meant that Tyson was recognised a few times, but he took each in stride, laughing and joking with any fans who spoke to him. It warmed Flick’s heart to see fans appreciate him.

She left him by the sports memorabilia, chatting with one of the fans who’d found him, to keep wandering through the house. Everything she passed was gorgeous and she took the time to admire it all even though she knew exactly what her destination was. The jewellery was, of course, her reason for being there and it took her breath away when she finally saw the collection. Every piece was stunning, beyond anything Flick had ever seen. She looked at every piece closely, not just the rings but the earrings, necklaces, and bracelets, too.

“Is there something you’re looking for?” an older lady asked, appearing beside Flick. “I’m not supposed to mingle but jewellery is worth breaking the rules for.”

Flick smiled at her—the owner of the home and the jewellery, presumably—and sighed, “Something that can work as an engagement ring but… isn’t.”

“Looking for your own ring, are you? Not much of a surprise,” the lady teased, kindly.

“He proposed without one and now we’re looking,” Flick explained, unable to stop herself from smiling at the memory. “He’s looking at the sports stuff. The one causing a fuss.”

The lady grinned knowingly, “The cute one with the curly hair? He’s the life of the party.”

“Yeah. He’s good at that.”

“I have something that you might be interested in if you want to come with me.”

Flick’s head titled, intrigued. She followed the woman into the bedroom that had been closed to the visitors of the Estate Sale and into an impressively large walk-in closet. The woman opened a safe hiding in the back of. What she presented to Flick was, somehow, even more beautiful than what had been on display.

“It’s… It’s incredible. Oh my,” Flick said, stunned by what she was seeing. She reached her hadn out unconsciously but pulled it back to her side without touching it. Before her was an oval shaped ruby, set in a circle of diamonds with the rose gold band also containing diamonds.

“It was my great-grandmothers,” the lady explained. “It’s never been used as an engagement ring she just loved the finer things for herself.”

“Oh,” Flick deflated, “but it’s a family heirloom.”

“I don’t have children to pass this on to and I’d much prefer to know the home that it’s gone to. The best part is my mother had thought about it being an engagement ring so—” the woman reached back into the safe and pulled out a second jewellery box “—she had a matching wedding band made. Would you like to try them on?”

Flick stuttered, “Can I—can I get Tyson first, please?”

The woman basically shooed Flick out of the room. She could hardly breathe as she tried to navigate her way back to Tyson. He was still talking to the same man as when she’d left, but he spotted her, and his face lit up.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said quickly, “but can you come with me for a minute please?”

“Yeah? You find something?”

Flick nodded frantically and stretched out her hand, shaking it so that Tyson would take it. He squeezed her hand and let himself be pulled along. His smile hadn’t left his face, but he was basically bouncing up and down as he walked—Flick’s giddiness was contagious.

The woman was waiting for them in her bedroom; Flick only learnt her name was Marianne when she tried to introduce her to Tyson and realised, she had never known.

Flick pointed to the open ring box in Marianne’s hand—the wedding band box still unopened—so that Tyson would look at it.

“Would you like to try it on now, dear?”

“Yes, please.”

Marianne handed the ring box to Tyson—his hands had started to shake. He had to let go of her hand to take the ring from the box, but Flick’s left hand remained in the air in front of her, also shaking.

It was the first time in their many Estate Sales that a ring had even been tried on and everything was moving in slow motion. Tyson took her hand gingerly, carefully pushing the ring onto her ring finger. Both of them stared down at the ring, their breathing heavy.

“Is this the one?” Tyson asked quietly, his hand curling around hers as he looked up to her face.

“If it’s not too expensive, yeah.”

“Don’t worry about that, alright?” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Is this the ring you’ve been looking for?”

“Yeah, Tys, this is the one.”

Tyson’s smile grew even bigger and he looked between Flick and Marianne, saying, “I’m going to talk to Marianne so you should go see if there’s anything else you want.”

Flick moved to take off the ring, not wanting to leave the room with it on. Marianne covered her hands before it could come off, telling her not to worry.

She did, though, because worry was her middle name.

She couldn’t stop touching it or looking at it. Her hand was yet to stop shaking. It would break her heart if it was out of their price range, but it was something that she needed to be prepared for.

Keeping her cool was also important as she tried to distract herself with the other items for sale in the house. Drawing attention to herself was never ideal, much less so when she was walking around with wet eyes wearing an expensive ring she didn’t even own.

She was sure she’d found the ugliest item for sale—a painting with no colour story and no proper anatomy on the woman in it—when Tyson found her.

“You good to go?” he asked, his hand on her lower back.

“We can go?” she asked, the tears finally spilling over.

Tyson reached up to quickly brush away a tear, smiling the whole time, “Yeah, Flick.”

“I have a ring,” she said, her voice shaking. “I have a ring.”

“Feels real, doesn’t it?”

“We’re getting married.”

“I love you. Thank you for wanting to marry me.”

Flick surged up to kiss Tyson, nearly knocking him back into the aforementioned ugly painting. It wasn’t an overtly passionate kiss, more just frequent pecks as she giggled deliriously.

Getting out of the house was a feat in and of itself, between the growing number of people inside, more people recognising Tyson and Flick barely looking up from her hand, but they did eventually make it back to the car and onto the road back to town.

“It’s a ruby, by the way,” Flick said, brushing her finger over the stone.

Tyson laughed, his voice echoing in the car, “Of course you’d buy the one I can’t see.”

“I like red,” she said sheepishly, as if he didn’t already know that it was her favourite colour.

“I’ll break out the glasses again when we get home so I can actually see what I’ve given you.”

the ring (but imagine it's actually antique)

Please consider leaving feedback - reblog and write in the tags or send an ask, I’m not fussed. I just want to know what you’re thinking!

[hes-writer]

All Too Well

Summary: right person, wrong time

Warning: sweet fluff and angst

Word Count: 4519 words

A/N: listen to ‘All Too Well’ by Taylor Swift first as there are some references throughout the fic. I also added time stamps as this occurs over the course of one year. I’m sorry if it’s confused—I tried my best to make it as coherent as possible ❤️

also, covid doesn’t exist in this au!

‘~~~’ = flashback, ‘—‘ = cut scene

November 2020

Y/N scrambled through the many articles of clothing sprawled in her drawer. The fabrics mingling with each other into a giant mess. It didn’t even include the pile of clothes sitting on the mattress and dripping on the floor.

That was the thing with Y/N. She had a habit of keeping things she didn’t need. She wasn’t a hoarder—although, Y/N did keep more things in favour of their sentimental value. It was her thing.

The fact that she could cradle a t-shirt in her palms and tell someone exactly what happened on a day that moulded the story of that specific shirt was her skill. Y/N liked to think that you could tell a lot about a person on what kind of clothes they wore—whether they were seeking affection or isolating, but not lonely.

In fact, her clothes didn’t just hold meaning for herself—it catered pieces of places she went to wearing the outfit. The things she thought of while adorning it, the emotions that she felt as it covered or—barely—shielded her skin. It was especially important to her to remember the people she spent it with.

Like that oversized, knee-length coat hung near the back of her closet. Y/N barely wore it now but seeing it beneath the splayed doors of the wardrobe, she could see flashes in her head about the last time she had worn it.

The way the pea coat flowed behind her as she twirled in a gentle circle, twisting the fabric slightly and catching tiny drops of littered snow. Y/N could picture the bulbous hat she wore on her head. A tiny pompom weighing every which way with the direction of her head. Her hands were in warm mittens that rendered her fingerless. The snow boots on her feet were crunching with every step of the crisp white snow beneath her feet.

It was truly a winter wonderland when the white weather sprinkled down on her—on them.

Y/N could just about feel the same large grin replicating her face when she snapped out her memory. The ghost of the hung overcoat literally hunted her as it rested in the shadows of her closet.

Y/N blinked twice, slouching her shoulders as she stayed frozen on her knees. The carpet wasn’t doing much to protect her taut skin, but she was in search of something and intended to find it. Except, she couldn’t find it anywhere.

She was sure that there was absolutely no way that she could lose it. It was a loud patterned scarf that frayed at the edges. It was, quite possibly, the ugliest design Y/N had laid her eyes upon. Though, a certain someone had reassured her that she looked beautiful regardless. Besides, the air was way too chilly to think about fashion choices that day.

~~~

December 2019

“Why don’t you pose for me, love?” Harry suggested, holding his phone tightly in one hand. That same hand was pulled free of the warm confines of his leather gloves as he insisted on capturing a few photos of his girl.

“You got it, mister,” Y/N replied, bending down to ball a glob of snow in her mitten-covered hand. She could just barely feel the iciness radiating off the protective layer. “Mind if I add some props?”

She lifted her hand, a raised brow quirking up her knit beanie.

Harry chuckles, “Go right ahead,”

He tilted his phone, ignoring the way his fingers lost feeling at the fingertips in favour of watching the woman of his dreams throw the patch of snow in the air. He captured the picture, admiring the way her back looked. Y/N really was beautiful from all angles. It was kind of counterintuitive, really, since it was snowing after all. But Harry was way too enamoured to question the questionable actions of his lover.

Besides, the gleaming smile on her face was enough to wipe his mind clean of anything other than her.

“Great! Why don’t you turn around?”

The woman looked over her shoulder was a subtle roll of her eyes, “No way,”

“C’mon, love. ‘S not even tha’ ugly,” Harry urged, commenting about the scarf wrapped around her neck.

She scoffed, “The fact that you have to reassure me is proof that it is ugly,”

Y/N played with the thin ends of the fabric, smiling to herself as she heard Harry groan loudly behind her. They were staying at Gemma’s house for the holidays and Y/N had purchased the first scarf she had seen at the store. She had nearly forgotten it if it weren’t for Harry calling her the night before to ensure that she would be warm during their stay. Not only was it cold, but the chilliness was just a tad too crisp to leave the cozy home without some sort of neck protection.

So, here she was dressed all cute from head-to-toe except her shoulders. It was a bit stupid to care so much about an ugly scarf design but Y/N guessed it had something to do with wanting everything to be perfect.

“I don’t think it’s ugly,” Harry quipped, sounding much closer than he had before. “‘Think it’s really nice. Especially the cutie who’s wearing it. Mind if I borrow it some time?”

Y/N couldn’t help the appearance of her love-struck eyes, smiling again when she felt his bundled arms snaked around her waist. Harry was warm, as usual, and he was sturdy as a rock both literally and metaphorically. Standing still in the snow gave her a bit of a shiver but having Harry’s body close was a breath of relief.

He cradled her between his arms, resting his own scarf-covered chin on her shoulder. Y/N knew that he must’ve been bending at the knees to reach that height. She clutched his naked hand between her mittens, directing it to a pocket in the confines of her coat to keep warm.

“Are you talking about me or the scarf?”

“How about both? Make it a two-for-one deal, yeah?” Harry’s voice was a bit hazy.

He felt as though he was captivated in a trance, watching the snowflakes rest gently on the slope of Y/N’s lashes. Her eyes glancing at their joined, mittened and gloved, hands.

She sighed, “Why not?”

Harry gave a silent cheer, leaning little ways into peck her cold cheek with his lips.

“Alright, now why don’t ya’ twirl for me, Y/N?” He instructed, taking cautious steps back in the snow.

“Like this?”

Harry nodded, thumbing the red button on his phone to press ‘record’. He watched as Y/N gracefully spun in a circle. Her pea coat flailed just at knee-level. Her boots squelched the starch white snow.

She did a full 360 before fully facing him with a bright grin. Harry couldn’t be sure how much his heart could take. He switched the setting to capture a photo.

“Exactly like that,”

He wanted to remember this.

~~~

Upon realization that Y/N would not get hold of that specific scarf—at least not for a while—because it was at Gemma’s home miles away from her, Y/N forced herself to clean up the mess she had made. Maybe it was the sudden strike of sensitivity coursing through her but Y/N felt much more emotional than she did before.

Perhaps it was the match-strike ignition of burning memories that flickered through her brain because once she started; she couldn’t stop.

It started with the frosty memory of twirling in the deep snow. Then, it was the flashback of driving from the grocery store to pick up ingredients before heading back to Gemma’s.

Y/N couldn’t deny the butterflies she felt playing that particular memory back because it was one of the moments that cemented a deep-rooted emotion in her.

The feeling of being beautiful—captivating, charming and alluring that Harry failed to notice the red traffic light switching to a reflective green. (‘Oi! Eyes on the road’)

She could still see the blush on his pale skin, realizing that he had been caught staring. And, by the way, the car behind them honked when Harry failed to move through the intersection. (‘Sorry, got distracted’).

And Y/N didn’t want to say anything but she could feel his tiny glances over her when Harry thought that she wasn’t paying attention.

———

November 2020

It has been nearly a year now.

Only a few more weeks until the dreaded date looped around to a full year passing. This time, Harry wasn’t around to celebrate the festivities with her and that ugly scarf was an article that Y/N had desperately missed. Ironically.

It would be just under a year when Harry had taken Y/N to his childhood home—now Gemma’s house as Anne had moved to a smaller place. It was where he excitedly showed her his room—the posters on his walls. The comics he used to read and the CD’s he used to listen to piled on his desk.

~~~

December 2019

“Quite an improvement,” Y/N commented, sitting on the edge of his twin-sized bed. She was referring to his King-sized bed from when she had slept over a couple of times.

“I’d say,” Harry agreed. The wood creaked under his weight as he sat beside her.

They both stared at the wall in front of them, feeling a sense of intimacy as Harry shared the remnants of his life to her.

The day continued when Anne had called the both of them down for hot cocoa, paired with a striped red, green and white candy cane dipped in the mug.

This was the part that hurt Y/N the most. It was almost too painful to remember—to reminisce because it was proof that the couple were so close to making a future together.

It didn’t happen, though.

Despite Anne and Gemma’s stories about a once upon a time, dorky Harry in his glasses (‘He still is’)—his family couldn’t stop referencing Y/N as his future.

“Hope your kids don’t take after his naked habit”

“Maybe your garden will have wild roses”

“Reckon you guys will get a small home?”

It made Y/N’s cheeks heat up. His family already thought of her as part of their family. And one sneaky look at Harry ensured her that Anne and Gemma weren’t the only ones thinking of their future because Harry caught her gaze long enough to give her the answer she was subconsciously searching for.

And when salutations had to be said, Harry and Y/N said goodbye to Gemma and Anne as they were to return to their respective London homes.

It was also the day that Harry had asked Y/N to move in with him.

——

It was exciting, to say the least. Moving in with your significant other was a big step in any relationship. The fact that Harry was a world-renowned superstar almost disappeared from Y/N’s mind because even though his home was a million times larger than her tiny flat—it immediately felt like home.

Harry wasn’t one to dwell too much on changes. In fact, he often referred to it as a sign that things were moving forward. There was no use being stuck in the same place when the universe had so much to offer. So, he was quite glad when Y/N made herself comfortable in his—their—home.

She managed to make the large place feel cozy. The decorations and tiny trinkets she had placed all over the house were really just pieces of her heart sprinkled in a home in which they’d build a life together. He would look at a pastel-coloured tea kettle and question when he had gotten the appliance before realizing that it was Y/N’s. Harry would use the tea kettle to boil water instead of using his Keurig.

___

Their schedules wouldn’t always line up. But Harry and Y/N were too loved-up to care how little time they spent with each other. There was no use in complaining when they could use that time to appreciate each other—for sticking around. For being the same when things moved too fast. For being the rock that both of them needed when times get rough.

Harry’s late studio sessions ran through the early morning when Y/N would be cooped up in their shared bedroom. Fast asleep and hugging his scented pillow. Sometimes he would find her bundled with a blanket on the living room couch. The soft glow of the television highlighting Y/N’s beautiful features. One look at her was enough to release Harry of the tension he felt on his joints and shoulders.

Y/N’s night shifts were the same too. She would return to a quiet house because Harry had fallen asleep. Despite his attempts to stay awake, he was not a night owl at all. Not only to stay up past ten in the evening unless he was out to do work. She had reassured him countless times that she would be okay on the drive home and that he should sleep when his body grew tired.

Harry tried to stay awake. He really did. And Y/N could tell because as soon as she crawls to her side of the bed, Harry’s right arm immediately pats the cold sheets for her as if sensing that she was nearby. He would mumble a quiet murmur of her name, “Y/N? Tha’ you?”

He would receive no verbal response, nor would Harry be able to see his love in the dark of the night even because Y/N hadn’t bothered to switch her bedside lamp on. Y/N was aware of Harry’s sensitivity to light, especially if he was in the dark for a long period of time. Despite that, Harry would hum in satisfaction when Y/N’s body would etch perfectly against his in a silent greeting that yes it is her.

They would fall fast asleep cuddled into one another.

If they managed to stay awake or if sleep failed to come, Y/N and Harry would trudge down the stairs for a midnight snack, squealing loudly as one playfully chased the other down the staircase.

Sometimes it was Y/N walking in on Harry munching on a few biscuits (‘Not such a health nut anymore, huh?’). Sometimes it was Harry catching Y/N making a fruit salad—an array of fruits and vegetables laying on the counter (‘I take credit for this’, he would say.)

But it would always end the same.

With both of them dancing goofily with each other. The refrigerator light was the only source of illumination because neither would be bothered to turn on an actual light. Not when the fridge served as a light source and a container of a variety of edible choices.

One night would end with Y/N slow dancing in Harry’s arms. His hands-on her waist, grazing her skin when her pyjamas too lifted. Their bodies would rest against each other like a stacked jigsaw. Harry’s chin on her head, hers on his broad shoulder. A pair of their hands clasped tightly on one another while the other found purchase with their bodies.

Harry would hum a light tune or sing softly so that they can find their rhythm. They would sway across the kitchen—slowly—crying out in pain and laughter when one would bump their hip on the marble counter. Y/N would listen to his heartbeat thrumming beneath his chest and even though she could only see a bit of him—it was enough.

One night would end with Y/N and Harry goofily flailing their limbs every which way. Boisterous laughter filling the room as Harry practically wheezed at Y/N’s admittance of performing a mean Dougie.

And with the fridge light catching the bits of it, Harry would slap his palm on the counter to catch himself before his knees gave out below him (‘There’s jus’ no way you’re that good’). She proved him wrong.

Neither of them knew when it would be the last time these moments occurred. Until they stopped completely.

——

It was the small changes that brought them closer together. And what would inevitably drive them apart.

It was the fact that even though the couple didn’t see each other much, they still cherished the time they had together because that was enough.

The relationship was built off of mutual trust, respect and honesty. Time was essential but Harry and Y/N didn’t necessarily need a lot of it. They just needed the reassurance of ‘always’. That no matter what happens, however far away they were from each other physically, however, the time they spent apart—that Harry would always come back to her and Y/N would always run home to him.

——

It was late-August when they broke up.

Leading up to it, Y/N had been promoted at her workplace and Harry was no longer spending late nights at the studio. He was sleeping in the studio instead of coming home.

Y/N was understanding. He was on a time-crunch since his second album was due to be released at the end of that year. She wanted to be as supportive as she had always been—if not, more. Harry didn’t need more pressure from her—his partner—who was supposed to be his solid ground in a cracking centre.

It was okay. It was okay. It was okay.

It was fine that they were spending less time than they normally would—not that it was a lot in the first place.

He was still trying. She was still trying. Messages, video calls—hell, even emails were there. The rare times when their schedule would actually coincide were spent peacefully sleeping on the bed. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Then, Y/N got promoted. More responsibilities. Training her colleagues. Interviewing assistants. Typing detailed emails. Double-checking spreadsheets.

At the same time that Harry was being pulled left and right to make decision after decision. Finalizing next year’s tour dates. Promos. TV shows. Modelling campaigns. Photoshoots. Interviews.

And like any other, answering later turned into a message left on ‘read’. A missed call manifested into an unopened voicemail. A desperate-measures email was only one of the many in each others’ inbox.

Harry wanted Y/N to come with him on tour the following year but it was a stretch waiting to be snapped.

She couldn’t.

Y/N was starting to build her life, building her career and she wasn’t going to give that up for him just yet. He could go on tour and she could visit when time allows. They knew that. Harry would buy her a ticket and she would be off to see him—when she can.

~~~~

June 2020

“I can’t go. You know that,” Y/N sighed, rubbing a palm over her face.

Harry leaned his shoulder against the doorframe of the bathroom. “I knew that. ‘Was worth a try though,”

They shared a comforting smile with each other. A hint of reassurance when uneasiness prevailed. There was something about the shift from spring to summer that simmered in their chests.

“Promise you’ll come to visit?”

“Of course,”

~~~

London may be Harry and Y/N’s home but LA was calling for him. Hence, why he spent the summer on the other side of the world. On another continent, across the pond, as some people might say.

It’s just a few months. He’ll be back before you know it, Y/N thought.

Harry will be home for the holidays and they would drive up north to spend it with Anne and Gemma as they did the previous year. The year when Y/N had met them for the first time and despite that, attained their approval to build a future with Harry.

Just a few months and then Harry will be back with her. The same Harry who will gently loop an ugly scarf around her neck. Teasing her about its hideousness before reassuring her that it was ‘as stunning as the woman wearing it’. . .or something. Harry always complimented her.

Yet, Harry never came home a few weeks shy before their scheduled road trip as they had planned. And Y/N did not visit him like she had promised to do.

Though, none of them blamed the other because they were too busy with their own lives to keep up with each other. What once was a loving and caring relationship was not a liability pushed to the back burner.

One might say that Harry and Y/N’s love was a case of wrong timing. They were perfect for each other—but just not now.

Because Y/N had a lot of things going for her and expanding her career. Harry was becoming more and more popular and successful by the minute. It wasn’t like they meant to ignore each other or be oblivious that they were still very much in a relationship with each other. Both Harry and Y/N just had a lot on their plate to even think twice about a relationship.

It wasn’t anybody’s fault—really. Even though their phone call says otherwise.

——-

August 2020

“Y-you what? Y/N, love,” Harry spoke through the phone.

Y/N’s breath hitched at the sound of the beloved nickname. It had been a while since she had heard it.

“I want to break up,” She repeated.

“Why?”

The woman picked at her fingernails, distracting herself from going back to the spreadsheet in front of her. She was in the middle of a break up yet her body urged to continue working.

“What do you mean why?” Y/N sighed exasperatedly. “It’s been months since we’ve seen each other, Harry. You said you’ll be home before Christmas so we can see Anne and Gemma but—,”

“We don’t have to see them! Y’can fly out here and spend it with me,”

“You know, I can’t,”

Upon letting those slip past her lips, Y/N was starting to question if Harry had disconnected because of the eeriness over the phone.

And as he said that night months ago with the alteration of Y/N’s word, “‘Know y’cant. You promised, though.”

Harry’s voice cracked and Y/N wondered if he was gnawing on his lip like he usually would when tears overflowed the ducts of his eyes. In the distance, Y/N heard a door close shut and she wondered if he had been working—the same as her—before she had decided to call and he had decided to answer.

A knife pierced into Y/N’s chest, guilt seeping in her veins as she recalled the words she had uttered to him. A promise that she would visit if he gave her the ticket. But that was then and this is now.

She wasn’t the head of her department then. Y/N had a lot more responsibilities now and she couldn’t just up and leave whenever she wanted to.

“And you promised to come back. Did you?”

He didn’t.

“Look, can we talk about this later? ‘M in the middle of recording and—“

“When are you not?” Y/N cut him off absentmindedly, splitting her attention on the Excel sheet in front of her.

“Excuse me?” Harry quipped, faintly hearing the clacks of a keyboard. “I know I work a lot but y’do too. Barely even respond to my texts anymo’”

“Says the one who doesn’t answer my calls,” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes.

And there it was again. The defeat of silence that proved no matter how much they retaliated against one another—neither of them would win because both of them were at fault.

“I was busy,”

“I am, too,”

“Y/N—“

“What?”

“I-I don’t want to lose you. . .”

The ache in Y/N’s chest grew tenfold. Her fingers momentarily paused over the keys of her laptop board. There was nothing to lose. Not when they’ve already thrown it away.

“I don’t want to either, H. But don’t you think breaking up is better than waiting for something that will never happen?”

“What won’t?” He asked, genuinely curious.

Y/N pushed her chair back, staring at the view of the city from her office.

“Us. Our future. It won’t happen because you’re busy and I’m busy. There’s no right time for us to start, Harry.”

“Who says there has to be a right time, huh?”

“Says, everybody! How are we supposed to build our relationship further when there is no relationship to work on?”

The waves of emotion came crashing down. For months, Y/N had suppressed the feeling of loneliness inside of her. She missed Harry so badly that it hurt her to admit so she went with the temporary bliss of balling it up until it became too much.

“We just need time, Y/N. We don’t need to do it at the right time. Y’know that,” Harry whispered, wishing so badly that this conversation didn’t take place over the phone where he was currently locked in a bathroom stall.

He continued, “You were there, weren’t you? Barely saw you but y’were there. You know how I feel about you and I know you feel about me. We jus’ need time,”

Time.

Because time is when Harry and Y/N  would slow dance in the kitchen at god-knows-hour of the morning.

Because time is when Harry and Y/N blissfully spent their time in the cold, watching her throw the bundle of snow in the air as if it was in slow-motion.

Because time is when Harry would look at Y/N and swear that it has stopped because nothing else mattered except her.

“You know it, you know it,” Harry gulped, breath hitching over the phone. Was he crying?

“All too well,” Y/N responded underneath her breath. She knew that he was right—that all they needed was a chance to reconnect and rekindle the flame put out by distance.

She hated how familiar every memory was to her. She hated how easily she was brought back to the moment it all happened with just the breath of his whisper.

There was no denying the emotion she felt wearing his hoodie and red and black plaid pyjamas at three in the morning. The affection she received wearing those pieces of clothing from the man who owned them. Her sock feet glided against the cold floor. Everything came flashing back to Y/N and it hurt because there was no way she could grant his wish.

“You’re asking for too much, Harry. I-I can’t give you that. You can’t give me—us—that,”

“W-what are you saying, love?” He whimpered, clutching the device in his hand as a last resort to hold onto something that was drifting away.

He knew that she was right. Y/N couldn’t give him that and he certainly couldn’t either.

“We can’t be together. At least, not now. We’re not the same anymore. We want the same things but we’re headed on different paths,”

“But we’ll meet again, won’t we?” Harry’s hoarse voice exemplified that he was—indeed—been crying. And Y/N’s wet cheeks were proof that she was as well.

“Always,”

_____